


A Hurricane In Its Perfect Power

by addleheadedfemale (justaskalice)



Series: Family Matters [1]
Category: Lizzie Bennet Diaries
Genre: Angst, Romance, Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-04
Updated: 2013-04-23
Packaged: 2017-12-07 10:24:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 22,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/747439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justaskalice/pseuds/addleheadedfemale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pre-LBD. Keeping someone ignorant isn't protecting them. It can actually endanger them. Or What Happened With George Wickham.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wins and Losses

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from a quote by Maya Angelou.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man raising his teenaged sister must be in want of some peace and quiet.

Gigi understands this, and when she is feeling generous, she keeps her volume levels reasonable at home. She knows that her brother works hard and is doing everything he can to keep the fragile pieces of their broken family unit together, and so she tries not to chafe under his sometimes-tyrannical rule.

But there is only so much a nineteen-going-on-twenty-year-old can take. When he tells her that she isn’t allowed to pursue swimming and tennis at the same time because she has to keep her grades up, she snaps.

“I’m an adult, William, let me make my own stupid decisions!”

“If you know it’s a stupid decision, then why do you want to make it?”

He is infuriatingly calm. His facial expression barely changes; there’s just a slight tick in his left eyebrow. It’s that calm, that complete lack of emotion, the look in his eyes like _Georgiana, if you’re going to act like a toddler, then I am going to treat you like one_ , that makes her lose her mind.

“This isn’t working. It’s completely ridiculous that I’m still living at home with my brother like a child. I can’t take it anymore! You’re always there, lurking, watching me, waiting for me to do something stupid so you can say you told me so!”

She doesn’t know what it is about these pseudo-conflicts that makes her talk in run-on sentences and exclamatory phrases, but she can’t seem to help herself. Maybe it is because when she’s yelling, when she’s making herself as big and tough and unreasonable as she possibly can, he deigns to give her some kind of a reaction. It is never enough, though. So she keeps pushing.

“What would you like me to do, Gigi?” She’s getting to him, working her way under his skin like an irritant. He’s talking down to her, and the tiniest hint of a sneer colors his voice.

“Leave me alone for starters!” She could easily end this. She could stomp away and slam her door and blast Florence and the Machine so loudly that her windows rattle, but she doesn’t move from her spot.

“I live here, too,” he retorts. “I leave you alone while I am at work. You eat most of your meals on campus or in your room. I don’t ever come into your room, even though you feel no compunction about invading _my_ space.”

She’s pushed the right button, and she gets a savage joy out of watching him build up steam. His eyebrows furrow together and she drives the knife home.

“I’m moving out. It’s already decided. I submitted my student housing application for next semester yesterday.”

Boom. He explodes.

“That’s out of the question. I know what college dormitories are like, and I know you, and that’s out of the question!”

She wants to slap that superior look off his face. Oh, he’s irate now, and she loves it, and so she just shouts the first thing that comes to mind.

“You’re out of the question!”

They stare at each other for a long moment, and then the corners of his lips twitch with the barest hint of a smile.

She fights to hold onto her rage, but that tiny crack kills her, and she lets out a squeak that morphs into a giggle. His eyes crinkle up and then they’re both laughing, her high titter mixing with the bass chuckle that is the closest William gets to a belly laugh.

“Stop laughing!” she commands, even as her body shakes. He laughs harder.

“You started it.”

“Did not!”

“Did too.”

“William, I was trying to have an actual conversation about something important!”

That pulls him up short. While the good humor still lingers in his eyes, he is once again calm. Serene. The placid, ever-so-slightly judgmental surface of a deep, still lake.

“Really? Because it appeared to me that you were trying to pick a fight.”

Touché.

She sighs and drops bodily into an armchair. “Well, that too.”

“What is this really about?”

He sits as well, much more carefully than she does, and now he’s all business. Chief Executive Big Brother. She hates that he thinks he can just waltz in and save her or fix whatever problem she has. She especially hates that he usually succeeds.

“This is about me being an adult and you letting go of the apron strings. I really do want to move out. I want my own place. If you won’t let me go to the dorms, then maybe we could find an acceptable alternative? I just…”

He frowns. It’s his problem-solving face, but there is hurt there, too. They have been living in a life raft together for so long that the idea that she may want to swim to shore stings.

“Come on, William, you don’t want me to live here forever.” She looks around, noting the one thousand tiny messes she has made within their perfectly arranged and organized living space. Their mother used to call her Hurricane Gigi, and it was an apt nickname. He follows her gaze, and as if he senses what she’s thinking, he shakes his head vigorously.

“I wouldn’t mind.”

She levels a disbelieving stare at him. “Really? When was the last time you brought a girl home? Because I’m pretty sure it was never. Having your little sister around all the time has got to cramp your style.”

He cracks another almost-smile at that.

“What?” She sniffs defensively. “I know that you’ve kept the girls away for a reason, but it’s stupid. We’re both adults. And for God’s sake, if you don’t want to get laid, think of me!”

He winces, and she almost admits that she is still a virgin and he shouldn’t worry since she doesn’t have friends anyway but she doesn’t because _it is none of his business._ Finally, he shrugs and glances out the window, obviously deciding it is safer to avoid the subject at hand. He deflects instead.

“I’m trying to imagine the parade of casual lovers that you think I’m hiding from you.”

“Whatever, dork. The Nile is not just a river in Egypt.” She shoots him a pointed look. “Can we talk about me moving out? I know things are busy at work, but I want a place near campus for the spring. Please?”

There are very few weapons in her arsenal that hold any sway with her older brother, but she does have The Pout. It has never failed her, and so she uses it sparingly, in times of great need. William has been falling for it for her entire life, and it doesn’t disappoint her this time.

“This is important to you, isn’t it?”

She nods, smiling hopefully.

“Okay. We will discuss it. Just discuss, Georgiana, I am not promising anything.”

But there is a note of resignation in his voice, and she knows that she’s won. She hugs him, hanging on longer than she has in a while, and he holds her tightly, rocking her the way their father used to when she was small.

She tries to savor the victory, but a tiny part of her feels like she’s lost something precious. 


	2. New Beginnings

The condo is near campus, has a walk-in closet, an eat-in kitchen, and a balcony with a breath-taking view of the city. Gigi wants it more than she wanted to go to Stanford, even more than she wants to make next year's swim team. 

But it comes with some strings. 

"You'll be working in the graphics department under Elinor Dashwood. I think you'll learn a lot from Ellie. She's been with Pemberley for a long time."

Gigi purses her lips and considers the hardwood floors. She really likes this condo but...

"How am I supposed to work and go to class and keep up my grades and everything else?" The _everything else_ is purposefully vague, but she doesn't believe for one second William has forgotten the fight that got them here. She has every intention of pursuing a spot on the swim team, come hell or high water.

He doesn't rise to the bait, however, just raises his eyebrows and shrugs. "I suppose you will have to figure that out, won't you? Being an adult means learning to manage your time wisely. Adult decisions have adult consequences." 

She trails her fingers over the granite countertops, trying to determine whether she has any more cards left to play. Emotional bribery is one thing, but negotiating with William is almost always a losing battle. She decides to test the waters.

"Do I at least get paid for this forced labor?" An internship with the family business is hardly indentured servitude, but she can't resist needling him a little.

"Of course you will get paid," he answers easily. Too easily. She doesn't trust the glimmer in his eye, and a moment later, her suspicions are confirmed. Like all of William's jokes, it just takes a few seconds for the punchline to land. "You are living rent free in a nice apartment with a weekly allowance that will meet all your needs, provided you budget properly."

She resists the urge to stick her tongue out at him, but it is a close thing. "That is acceptable." 

"As my name is on the lease," William continues, "I will retain a key. Purely for emergencies," he adds, seeing she is about to protest.

She squints out of the window, admiring view again. It's a nice view. Everything she wants is within her grasp, but she's nervous for some reason. It feels as though this is all too good to be true. Still, William seems to be on board with her plans, and he has been unnervingly respectful of her rather childishly worded demands to be taken seriously. If she agrees, she'll have freedom. It is an artificially constructed freedom, but it is better than nothing.

She turns to face her brother with her hand stuck out in front of her. "You have got yourself a deal."

William smiles and takes her hand. "It was a pleasure doing business with you, Miss Darcy. Your internship begins at 8 a.m. on Monday morning. Stop in Human Resources first to pick up your badge and your pre-employment paperwork."

* * *

She isn't exactly unfamiliar with the offices at Pemberley Digital. After all, both her parents worked here, and she spent more than a few weekends playing underneath the solid oak conference table in the board room as a child. She can even remember one day, when she was about seven, when both her parents had to be in the office and she had the flu. They carted her in with a fluffy comforter and a lot of pillows and set up her up in a spare office, and every hour or so Mrs. Reynolds would pop her head in and make sure that she had enough hot tea and crackers and that her Disney movie was still playing. Despite the flu, it remains one of Gigi's favorite memories.

The first time someone recognizes her, it freaks her out a little. She isn't used to it, and she's not sure how she is expected to react. He's a middle-aged man with a receding hairline, and he waylays her in the hallway between HR and the graphics department.

"Georgiana Darcy, is that you?" He's grinning at her like they're old pals but she can't for the life of her identify him.

"Um, yeah? Yes. That's me."

"The last time I saw you, you were about this high." He bends his knees and holds his hand about three feet off the floor. "What are you doing here? Here to see your brother?"

She's about to ask him why he would think that, since she is reasonably certain that William's office is two floors up and on the other side of the building, but she decides that's unnecessarily rude. Especially considering this man still has not introduced himself. "No, actually, I am starting an internship today. With Elinor Dashwood in Graphics?"

His smile, already so wide it's in danger of splitting his face in two, gets even bigger. "Another Darcy at Pemberley! That is wonderful news. Do you need directions to her office?"

"No! That's fine. I got directions from HR. Thank you, though, Mr...?"

"Pope. Jared Pope. I'm in Accounts, if you ever have any questions."

"That's very kind of you, Mr. Pope. Thank you."

She nods and makes her way past him, privately congratulating herself on keeping her composure. Gigi is a friendly person, but she can also be shy, and she sometimes struggles with interacting with strangers. Her tendency to say the first thing that comes into her head has led to some awkward conversations. Privately, she wonders how much of that is due to the protective bubble within which she's always lived, carefully cared for like a China doll.

But that's old Gigi. That's the Gigi who lived with her brother and didn't have a job and still mostly came home before a curfew she was given at the age of sixteen. New Gigi has a life. New Gigi is going to make friends and go out carousing and kiss boys. She’s going to have things in her life that aren’t directly related to her older brother or her parents. And maybe that’s the only reason she got this internship, but it doesn’t have to be the reason she keeps it.

She walks into Miss Dashwood's office buzzing with a sudden burst of confidence, and when Ellie says, "Gigi Darcy, you're all grown up!" she just laughs and nods.

"I guess so," she says. "How about that?"

* * *

She didn't expect work to be so much, well, _work_. It isn't that she's not enjoying herself. But the fact of the matter is that she is only at the beginning her core classes in her graphic design major, and most of what is going on around her is completely over her head. She finds herself constantly asking what feel like completely stupid questions, and her confidence lags. She's waiting for the whispers to start, the ones that say she's only working there because she's a Darcy, and how her brother must be crazy if he thinks she's got any kind of potential. 

She works two full weeks until classes start and she drops down to part-time. She thinks she has never been so relieved to go back to school. Over dinner one night, she tells William how impressed she is that he sometimes works sixty or even seventy hours in a week.

"I feel like I'm always on the verge of passing out. I barely have the energy for my morning conditioning, and then by evening practice I feel like I’m dying." She picks at her food and tries not to sound too pathetic, although she thinks she doesn't quite succeed. William lets out a soft chuckle.

"This internship will be good for you. Our parents wouldn’t want you to go through life the easy way. Even if you end up doing something entirely different from what we do at Pemberley Digital, you can never go wrong if you know the value of hard work."

"Yes, William.” She rolls her eyes playfully, but smiles so he knows she’s teasing. “You're right. Still, I'm glad that I have class now. It'll feel like a break!"

This earns her a severe look. "I don't want you to neglect your schoolwork, Gigi."

"Oh, calm down. You know that's not what I meant. When have I ever neglected my schoolwork?"

He smiles then and nods. “You’re right. I don’t have anything to complain about on that front.”

“Only on that front?” She furrows her eyebrows and purses her lips, making her best William face, and he laughs outright.

“Since you bring it up…”

“William,” she sighs, already shaking her head.

“I would prefer if you chose between swimming and tennis. It isn’t about ability. Gigi, can you even do that? Is it physically possible?”

“Maybe,” she says stubbornly, even though she isn’t sure it is. Truthfully, she hasn’t gotten farther than the desire to get on the team, to accomplish that feat. Tennis season is about to get rolling, but she can’t get her head out of the pool.

“Just…think about it? Please?”

And for just a moment, she thinks he’s about to send a pout her way. But then he drops his eyes and changes the subject, bringing up something that Ellie Dashwood said about her the other day. 


	3. All About the Fun

She’s been standing in front of the vending machine contemplating the choice between chips or a candy bar, knowing both would meet with Coach Andsley’s emphatic disapproval. But it’s lunchtime and she’s starving, and she doesn’t have time for lunch before she has to go to class this afternoon if she wants to finish what she’s working on. She’s about to give up and go down to the cafeteria when -

“Gigi D.! What are you doing here?”

“Fitz Williams?” Fitz and William are old friends from high school, and Fitz was one of William’s first hires as C.E.O. He is a V.P. now, and his job has something to do with finances…Gigi remembers William mentioning that he travels quite a bit and works with Pemberley’s investors. Gigi hasn’t seen him in a few years, but he was always very nice to her when she was younger.

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out.” He bumps her hip with his and joins her in front of the vending machine. “Oh, heck no, this is not good.”

“What?” Gigi blinks up at him, alarmed. “What’s wrong?”

“They are out of mini chocolate donuts. Unacceptable.”

“You could always get the powdered sugar ones instead?”

But Fitz is shaking his head. “Nope. Gotta be chocolate, Gigi D. No ifs ands or buts about it. This calls for drastic measures. Come on.”

He turns and walks away. Gigi stares after him, trying to gauge if he’s serious. “Me? Right now?”

“You. Let’s go, tick tock! Chocolate donuts are overrated. There’s a diner down the block that has pancakes you’ll flip over.”

“Pancakes aren’t chocolate.”

“They are if you order them with chocolate chips! What do you say?”

“Oh, I really can’t,” she protests. “I have all this work to do and I promised Miss Dashwood I would finish by the end of the week. And I have class in an hour so I really should stay and work.”

Fitz turns back to her. “You are doing an uncanny imitation of your bro right now, little Darcy. You know that it is Monday, right? You have all week to finish your project. When do you work next?”

She chews her lip and thinks about it. “I’m coming in on Wednesday afternoon for about four hours, and then Thursday morning.”

“And how long is it going to take you to finish what you need to get done?”

“Three hours? But I’m so hopeless, what if I screw it up, and then it ends up taking me like ten hours, and then if I’m totally behind, Miss Dashwood will tell William that I’m doing badly and -”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.  There are a lot of ifs in that sentence. And what did I just say?”

Gigi stares at him blankly.

“No ifs! No ands! No…”

She cracks a tiny smile. “No buts.”

Fitz is hilarious. Even better, he is totally unphased by the fact that they don’t really know each other except through William. The last time they spent any time in the same room was probably ten years ago, before Gigi's parents died. William mentions him in conversations, of course, but he tends to do most of his socializing out of the house. Still, as she listens to Fitz joke and tell stories, Gigi feels like they’re best friends. Maybe it's because he's familiar without being directly responsible for her, but without giving it much thought, she starts to tell him things that she's been afraid to tell her brother.

“I feel like I have to prove myself, right? Like, I’ve been given so much, and I have all these opportunities. How am I supposed to pick? Shouldn’t I just soak in everything I can? And if I do that, how do I find time to, you know, sleep and stuff?”

Fitz pops a piece of fruit in his mouth and squints into the sun.

“You should…go have some fun. Yes, I think you should be all about the fun today.”

She laughs. “That isn’t what I asked.”

“I know.” He shovels pancake into his mouth. “But,” he talks around his food, and Gigi laughs out loud, “you, my friend, are tightly wound. You need to do something that doesn’t have anything to do with work. Everything else will sort itself out once you get in the right headspace.”

“And how, exactly, will fooling around help solve my problems?”

He shrugs. “Couldn’t hurt. Come on, you're in college! What do you have to do really?”

“Digital photography in an hour. Practice at four.”

“Pshhhht. That’s a light day.”

“I have to prep for class tomorrow, and my morning workout starts at five. I can’t exactly stay out late.”

He scrunches his face together in what she’s pretty sure is a parody of her brother, and she covers her mouth to hide her laughter.

“How old are you?”

“Nineteen?”

“Exactly. Get thee to a party, Gigi D! Or you know, a bar, or whatever the kids are doing these days.”

“I thought you were the coolest guy around, Fitz. Don’t you know what the kids are doing?”

“I am a man. I do manly things.”

She laughs again and shakes her head, reaching for the check as the waiter drops it off. He swats her hand away.

“Nope, my treat.” She starts to protest, and he holds up a hand. “I asked, I pay. No ifs, no ands…”

“No buts,” she finishes with a roll of her eyes.

“Promise you’ll do something fun tonight?”

“It’s Monday. What am I going to find to do on a Monday night?”

“Promise!”

“You won’t tell William?”

“Tell him what?”

She considers it for a moment, then grabs his phone from the table in front of him. Rapidly, she punches her number into his phone and presses send. She answers her phone and hangs up, and, with a triumphant grin, passes his own phone back to him.

“Now you have my number. You know, in case you ever want to hang with the kids.”

They walk back to Pemberley together, and Fitz makes her bump fists before she leaves for class.

“You can use that number to,” he calls as she jogs off in the direction of her car. “Any time, Gigi.”

She waves goodbye with a smile on her face. Even if he’s William’s friend, she feels like Fitz likes her because of her. And it feels good. Great, even.

* * *

That night, she leaves her condo with no real plan. In class, she had introduced herself to a couple of new people. It went well, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to jump right in and ask to hang out. Still, she wants to keep her promise to Fitz. She has a feeling he’s going to ask her about it the next time they see each other, and she has never been good at lying.

There is a restaurant/bar a few blocks from where she lives that is usually full of college students from the Bay Area, and so she starts there, hoping that she’ll randomly run into someone she knows. She’s careful to go early enough that she can get in without being carded; she’s never had a fake ID because the idea of William discovering something like that in her possession makes her physically ill.

She has some idle hopes for the evening thanks to Fitz’s encouragement, but she doesn’t really expect anything life-changing. That’s why it is an enormous surprise when George Wickham slides into the seat next to her at the bar, a happy smile on his face.

“Of all the gin joints in all the world, you had to walk into mine.” 


	4. Investigation

“George? Oh my gosh, how are you? It’s been…”

“Five years, at least,” he finishes, and the way his eyes sweep over her makes her dizzy.

George Wickham is the son of a family friend, and he practically grew up in the Darcys’ house. He is a year younger than William, and throughout their childhood, William and George were as close as brothers. After high school, the two boys parted ways. William went straight to Harvard, and George insisted he needed some time to travel and find himself before committing himself to college and his future. George still came to visit regularly over the holidays, but Gigi got the feeling that his relationship with William had grown shakier.

Then the Darcys had been killed in a car crash, and suddenly George was gone. Following the funeral, Gigi only saw him once, about six months later, leaving their condo. She asked William where George was and what he was doing a few times after that, but William usually just shrugged and changed the subject. That had been a dark time for William, and even he and Gigi were barely talking. She always assumed they had gotten into a fight and their friendship had never recovered.

And now George Wickham is sitting next to her in a random bar, smiling at her like she’s the most amazing thing he’s ever seen.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, taking in every detail. His hair is shorter and blonder. He was always built, but he looks like he’s slimmed down even further, and she can see the definition of his muscles through his tight jersey tee.

“I…work here.” He pulls out a small pad of paper and grins. “What are you doing here? You can’t be legal yet.”

_He means legal to drink_ , she tells herself sternly, ignoring the way her heart flutters. George is handsome, has always been handsome, and as a preteen she spent countless nights watching him and wishing he would notice her.

“I live nearby. I just…came to get some dinner?”

That makes him laugh. “It’s eight o’clock. You came for dinner? Come on, let me see the fake.”

“I don’t have one!” She crosses her arms defensively. “I came early so I could get in, okay?”

“You are such a rebel.” He leans towards her with a smirk on his face and a gleam in his eyes, and it’s all she can do to keep her seat and not lean forward as well.

“Well, I think the least you can do is get me a drink.” And just like that, she’s flirting with him. She doesn’t have a lot of practice, but in a strange way, it’s a lot like lunching with Fitz was earlier. George is familiar. He is safe. He would never hurt her. This is fun and easy, and even though she knows it will never go anywhere, it is exactly what she needed. She makes a mental note to thank Fitz for the encouragement.

He winks. “That I can definitely do, Peach. What’ll you have?”

“Surprise me.”

She sits at that table sipping cocktails until midnight, which is about two hours later than she usually goes to bed. When the servers come around to check IDs, George waves them off. He keeps stopping by with little comments about the tables he’s serving or to chat for a few minutes. She learns that he hasn’t been in town long, and that he’s been spending his last few years bouncing between part-time jobs and coaching gigs. He avoids the subject of school, so she doesn’t bring it up.

“What do you coach?”

“A little of this, a little of that. Mostly I work with club swim teams, although I’m trying to land an assistant coaching job at a junior college up north.”

“You work with swimmers?”

“Yeah, why…Oh!” His eyes light up, and he drops an elbow onto her table. “You were a swimmer, weren’t you? You still doing that?”

“Sort of,” she says slowly, the inklings of a plan starting to form in her mind. “I’m on the Stanford tennis team, but I’d really like to try for the swim team next year. I do a lot of swimming as part of my cross-training regimen.”

“Interesting.”

Someone calls his name from across the bar, and he turns around.

“Hey, I gotta go, but if you need any tips, you know where to find me.”

He starts to leave, but before he can walk too far she reaches out and grabs his forearm. “George, wait!”

Slowly, he turns, and as he does, she can see a wide smile growing on his face. That bubbly feeling returns to the pit of her stomach. She squashes it down.

“You should give me your number. I may have a job for you.”

Both his eyebrows shoot up and his smile gets impossibly wider. “Your wish is my command.”

* * *

She makes herself hold off on contacting George again. Something about the situation makes her palms itch and her heart race. She can’t pin it down at first, but then she realizes: William.

She doesn’t know why her brother and George are no longer friends. William never mentions George, avoids the subject entirely on the off chance that it comes up. And William is usually so loyal, so steady with his friends that whatever happened, it must have been ugly.

Given the information she does have, she wonders whether the whole thing wasn’t William’s fault. It would make sense. The timing of George’s disappearance, the abrupt nature the separation, and William’s behavior at the time. Maybe he is simply too proud to apologize. If her brother has a weak spot, it is his pride.

While she is deciding what to do with George’s phone number, she probes the subject matter further. On Thursday, she rides the elevator up to the fourth floor and walks to William’s office. Mrs. Reynolds, his ever-present secretary, is sitting at her desk.

“Does he know you’re coming, dear?”

“No, I didn’t think to make an appointment.” Gigi flashes a winning smile. “Does he have a minute in his schedule? I just want to see if he’s free for lunch.”

Mrs. Reynolds was their father’s secretary, and she’s worked at Pemberley since before Gigi was born. Probably since before William was born, come to think of it.

She shuffles a few papers on her desk and pulls out a calendar book. “Oh, I can do that for you. Let's see. Nothing in the daily calendar,” she says, and then she’s on the computer, clicking through screens rapidly. “No, it looks like he’s free for lunch. Should I pencil you in?”

“Please!” Gigi leans to one side and peeks into his office. Knowing William, he’s been at work since 7:00 or earlier, and right now he’s on the phone and typing furiously at the same time. “Tell him its non-negotiable. I’m making him leave the building for a change.”

Mrs. Reynolds makes a quick note in the calendar book and smiles up at her. “I’ll make sure he’s ready at noon.”

* * *

“You’re late.”

William is swinging his pocket watch idly and leaning against his desk.

“Oh, come on, by like five minutes. And in the time it took for us to discuss this, we could be heading off to eat delicious Chinese food.”

“Dragon Wok?”

“Obviously.”

Just thinking about it is making Gigi’s stomach gurgle, and he shoots her a smirk as they make their way to his car. They’ve been going to Dragon Wok for years, and it’s sort of become their place, more than any of the other restaurants they frequent. The tables are covered with paper, the chopsticks are cheap bamboo and come in little disposable packages, and their lunch buffet is $5.99. It is the best Chinese food in town.

“So, Fitz and I had lunch the other day.” Gigi has given a lot of thought into how she wants to approach the subject of George Wickham, and she’s settled on a circuitous route.

“I heard.” William’s lips twitch and he stabs at a piece of sesame chicken with his chopsticks.

“William, that’s cheating. How hard is it to use chopsticks the way they’re intended to be used?”

He meets her eyes and, with the greatest deliberation, stabs another piece of chicken and brings it to his mouth. She tries to hold a look of stern disapproval, but she fails, a burst of laughter escaping at the mischievous smile on his face. Of course, William is perfectly capable of using chopsticks, but he enjoys teasing her on occasion. The misuse of chopsticks is one of her biggest pet peeves, and he knows it.

“Anyway,” she says, just as deliberately scooping up some sticky rice, “Fitz took me out for breakfast. Brunch? Breakfast for lunch?”

“Ah, yes. Chocolate chip pancakes?”

“You guessed it. It was really nice to see him again. It’s been a long time.”

William nods in agreement, focused on his food.

“It made me think about other old friends.” She holds her breath, wondering whether he will catch on before she says his name. He doesn’t look up from his plate.

“You know who I haven’t seen in a really long time? George.”

His expression flickers and darkens, just for a moment, but he still doesn’t look up.

“George…Wickham?” she repeats. “He used to be at our house all the time and then he just disappeared. Have you heard from him?”

“No.” William finally tears his eyes away from his plate, and his expression is so perfectly neutral that he must be hiding something. “Why the sudden interest in George?”

She shrugs easily, keeping her eyes on his face. Nothing says liar like looking away at a pivotal moment. “No reason. Hanging out with Fitz just made me think of old times, that’s all.”

William’s eyes measure her sincerity, and she forces herself to keep eating. Finally, she raises her eyebrows. _What’s the big deal?_ is her silent question. This is his cue. If there is something seriously wrong with George, here is where he will reveal it.

Instead, he gives a terse nod and goes back to his own food. “Well then. No, I haven’t heard from George in many years now. I have no idea what he is doing, and frankly, it is none of our concern.”

“Okay.”

She changes the subject easily, and they spend the rest of the lunch hour talking about her classes and the girl she’s working with in her lab for Intro to Competitive Programming who has serious control freak tendencies. Gradually, William’s shoulders relax and his jaw unclenches, and when Gigi jokingly offers to set him up with her lab partner, he gives her a disapproving headshake and a humorless chuckle.

“No, really! I think she’s totally your type. Bossy, controlling, completely unrecognizable sense of humor. You guys would be perfect together! Plus, she’s smoking hot.”  

He chokes on his water and glares at her. “Georgiana, forgive me, but I am fairly confident when I say that I don’t think I will ever be taking your advice on my love life.”

She shrugs and demurely sips her water. “Your loss, big brother. Your loss.”


	5. Sleepless

They meet for lunch at a small cafe near campus. She makes a conscious effort that morning, fussing over her hair and make-up more than usual, and attempting to find a shirt that doesn't make her look like she's twelve years old. She doesn't stop to examine her reasons for this. 

George is waiting for her at a table when she jogs up to the cafe, out of breath because her class ran late and she had to run to make it on time. Her hair is sticking to her forehead and she's sure she's a complete mess, but he stands up with a smile, kisses her cheek, and gives her a brief hug. Her skin flushes and burns where his lips touched her. 

"Hey, kid. How's it going?"

She huffs out a breath, blowing her bangs out of her face and sits in the chair he's pulled out for her. "Oh you know, normal Tuesday. Workout, class, lunch, class, workout, bed."

He makes a face. "Sounds awful. You're making me feel better about having to drop out of college after one semester."

Even as he jokes, though, she sees something wistful in his eyes, and she winces apologetically. She's assumed that he didn't ever go to college, or didn't finish, but here is proof. "Sorry. I guess I shouldn't complain. I didn't mean-"

But he waves her off. "Don't worry about it. I'm stashing my pennies away. Some day I’ll go back."

"That's actually what I wanted to talk to you about." She's been poring over her budget, so she knows that William is actually being quite generous with her weekly stipend. She has more money than she knows what to do with, and George, an old friend who has fallen on hard times, needs a leg up. Better yet, he has a skill she needs. "I have a proposition that I think will be advantageous to both of us."

His eyebrows shoot up and his lips tilt in a kind of sideways smirk. "Really? And what kind of...proposition are we talking about?"

"I need one on one help getting back into racing shape for my swim team tryout. You're looking for more coaching gigs. I thought maybe..."

"Ah, a _professional_ proposition." He sinks back into his chair, smirk still firmly in place, but she thinks she hears a tinge of disappointment in his voice. It's probably wishful thinking. "Well, I'm intrigued. Name your terms."

"Five sessions a week, two hours a session," she says promptly, meeting his eyes and trying not to stammer. "I'll pay you $300 a week."

"I don't want to take your money, Peach," he protests. "And besides, that's way too much."

"Do you know how much I'd have to pay for a private coach if I went looking around here? At $30 an hour you'd be doing me a favor."

He hesitates, and she leans forward, throwing in the tiniest pout for good measure. "Please?"

She waits with bated breath, and her eyes zero in on the corner of his bottom lip that he's worrying between his teeth.

"I won't take more than $200 a week," he says finally. "That plus a recommendation when you make the team."

"George-"

"That's the deal. Take it or leave it." 

She purses her lips, considering it. It would leave her with more cash, and frankly, she's bidding pretty high. It's just that, for some reason, she really wants to spend time with him. He's interesting and exotic and familiar all at once, and it doesn't hurt that he's pretty easy on the eyes. Plus, it would be so much easier to socialize with someone who already knows her. She's making slow progress with her classmates, but so many of them have formed friendships from a year and a half in student housing, and she feels like she's some sort of awkward intruder in their cliques. 

"Deal."  A waiter comes and she orders a salad and a diet soda, ignoring the voice in her head that tells her to hydrate. George waves the waiter off at first.

"Wait!" Gigi calls. The waiter stops, and she looks at George expectantly. "Are you not hungry?"

"I'm fine. I'll just grab something at work later."

"When do you work?"

He glances at his watch. "In about six hours."

"Oh, for Pete's sake. That's stupid. Order something."

"I didn't bring my wallet! I wasn't planning on eating. I have five dollars."

He pulls out the bill and waves it at her face, and she laughs. "I think I can cover a sandwich, George. No big deal."

"We'll take it out of my first bill," he says stubbornly.

"George! My treat. Don't worry about it, okay?" 

He looks like he's about to keep arguing about it, but then the waiter clears his throat and he sighs loudly. "You win this round," he says. "But I've got it the next time." 

She can't help the smile that blooms over her face. "Okay." 

* * *

Their first session is Wednesday morning. Gigi drags herself to the pool after her morning workout at the field house, wondering whether all this exercise is actually healthy. Still, there is an extra flutter of adrenaline coursing through her system when she gets to the pool and snaps on her cap. 

He's already there and in the pool. She watches as he cuts through the water, hands like blades, only turning his face to breathe every third stroke. His body is sculpted; watching him move reminds her of the Italian masters and their rapturous consideration of the male form. She blushes when he stops and pulls himself out of the pool. His swimming suit is tiny, and even though she should be used to it (she grew up swimming in competitive co-ed clubs, after all) she has to turn her head and look away to compose herself. 

This is getting embarrassing. She just has to remember that he's a guy, just like any other guy she knows. A friend. Practically a brother. Right. That feeling in the pit of her stomach is nothing but sisterly love. 

He squeezes her shoulder and pulls off his cap, shaking his hair loose and spraying her with stray droplets. She shrieks and laughs, and the tension melts away. Smoking hot though he is, George is still George, the boy she grew up with. 

"Okay, you warm up. Start with an easy 500, then I want to see your starts from the block. I'll watch your turns while you warm up. Keep it as tight and streamlined as possible. Impress me, Darcy." 

The only part of this plan that she has any hesitation about melts away at the authoritative tone he takes immediately. He knows what he's doing. He'll get her in shape. And as the water whooshes past her, she allows herself a moment of self-satisfaction over just how perfectly she's orchestrated things. 

* * *

Of course, by the end of the following week she's trying to remember why she thought any of this was a good idea. As she puts the finishing touches on the design she's hoping will win some positive feedback from Miss Dashwood, she yawns and takes another sip of coffee. Two to three workouts a day have taken their toll. She knows that once she gets into a routine, it won't be so bad, but she's got a tennis meet coming up on Saturday and she needs to be rested and at her best. Reluctantly, she has told George they would take the weekend off. 

"Gigi D.!" Fitz's familiar voice booms down her hallway, and she stands up in her cubicle, already smiling. She never knows when Fitz will show up. It is always a surprise, and it is always when she needs distraction the most. It's like he has a sixth sense about her mood and knows just what will make her feel better. “I come bearing chocolate.”

"Fitz Williams, where have you been all my life?” she answers cheekily. When he tosses the bag of dark chocolate covered espresso beans at her, she laughs delightedly. “How did you know how much I need caffeine right now?”

“Psychic powers. Don’t mess with the Fitz,” he intones solemnly, “I know all.”

She scoffs but breaks into the tiny beans with abandon as he watches with an amused smile on his face.

“When was the last time you slept?”

“Huh? Oh, you know, just busy with things.” She hasn’t mentioned George to Fitz out of some kind of weird impulse to have a secret, any secret, that can’t get back to William. It’s silly and childish, but she feels like the hours she has spent at the pool with him are locked in some kind of peaceful zen garden, and her overprotective brother would stomp all over it if he knew.

“Busy with _things_?” Fitz isn’t buying it. “Things of a college boy persuasion, perhaps?”

She snorts. “You’re about as subtle as a hammer, Fitz.”

“Did I say I was going for subtle? All the signs are there. You’re tired, distracted, craving chocolate…”

“Maybe I’m just having my time of the month,” she replies primly.

With any normal guy, this response would have stopped the conversation in its tracks. In Gigi’s experience, even the most enlightened male can be forced to reboot when faced with menstrual talk. But Fitz doesn’t bat an eyelash.

“Nope. That was last week.”

She stares at him aghast.

“What? I pay attention. You women think you’re sooo mysterious. Please. Like reading a book. Now tell me, who is this guy?”

“It’s not like that,” she says, giving up. She’ll have to tell him something. He’ll never let it go if she doesn’t. “He’s…a swimmer. He’s working with me for my try out. That’s all.”

“But that’s not all you’d like it to be.” The knowing tone in his voice is annoying, and suddenly she’s feeling squirmy and self-conscious, because it’s ridiculous to even contemplate George feeling anything but brotherly affection for her. Her stupid crush has never seemed quite so stupid before this moment.

“No, that’s not…I mean, whatever, okay? He’s gorgeous, yeah, and I wouldn’t mind…but that isn’t what it’s about. He’s funny, and he’s sweet. He’s my friend.”

“Uh huh.” Fitz cocks a doubtful eyebrow, but he doesn’t say anything else.

“Never gonna happen, Fitz. Stop it.”

“Stop what?” He reaches into the bag and tosses a bean into the air, catching it in his mouth. “I’m not doing anything. Nope. Not even thinking about suggesting that you engage in any kind of social activity with this swimmer guy. Why would you think that?”

She rolls her eyes and shakes her head, pelting him with a stray espresso bean. But that night, despite her exhaustion and the fact that Coach Andsley is going to have them running wind sprints at 6 a.m., she walks down the street and sits at that table near the bar. When George comes by with a complimentary order of fries, she can’t help but grin from ear to ear.


	6. Ace

It happens because she isn't listening to her body. Everyone warns her that if she isn't more careful, she'll hurt herself. Even Fitz, the man who considers walking to the Starbucks on the corner his rigorious daily exercise, has been telling her to take it easy. But with a month left before she has her try-out and tennis only getting more demanding, she doesn't really think slowing down is an option.

Predictably, it is in the middle of an extremely close match when she lands on her left foot wrong and twists her ankle. She finishes the set, but her footwork is sloppy and she's slowed down so much by the end that it's easy pickings for her opponent. Coach Andsley puts her on the injured list and tells her she needs a week of rest. A full week with nothing to do but limp to class and occasionally limp through the halls of Pemberley Digital. It isn't a sprain, but Coach Andsley has caught on to the fact that she's been doing more than just her workouts with the tennis team, and so she's been ordered to keep off her ankle entirely until it heals, just in case.

When she calls George on Sunday to cancel their practices, he's immediately concerned. "What did I say? I said we were working too hard. Jesus, Gigi, you spend half your day working out and you're built like a twig. Of course you got hurt."

The worry in his voice warms her insides, but she makes herself answer lightly. "I am not a twig! Come on, I'm at least a sturdy branch. And I hurt myself playing tennis, not swimming. Besides, it was an accident. It could have happened to anybody."

"Yeah, but it happened to you." He pauses, and then, "Give me your address. I'm coming over."

Panicking, she looks around her condo. It's a complete mess. Without William to keep her in check, she's let her hurricane tendancies get the better of her, and a layer of clothing, papers, and tennis equipment covers every surface of the place. 

"Oh, that's really not necessary." 

"I'm not taking no for an answer, Peach. Come on. Give it." 

He may sound like he's teasing, but she knows he's perfectly serious. If she doesn't tell him where she lives, he'll probably figure it out some other way. Sighing, she gives in and rattles off the address. 

"Give me like thirty minutes. I...uh, I want to take a shower." She's already on her feet, gathering up clothes and piling them into her hamper. She winces when she leans too hard on her left foot.

"Excellent. Half hour. See you then." 

In the end, she manages to jam most of her things out of sight, although she hopes like hell he doesn't need to get into the front hall closet, because he'll be hit with an avalanche of rackets and stray tennis balls if he opens the door. She even has a chance to run her head under the bathroom sink so it looks like she's taken a shower. When he buzzes up to her place, she's making a smoothie and the living room and kitchen are disaster-free zones.

He doesn't come empty handed. He has a couple of DVDs (both action movies) and a plastic container full of chicken noodle soup. She laughs at that.

"I twisted my ankle, George, I don't have the flu."

"Soup is a cureall," he says with a wink. "I learned that from your mom. Now go sit down."

The mention of her mother hits her right in the chest. Sometimes it is easy to forget the history that he has with her family and think of him as just some guy. And then he brings her soup because it's what her mom would do, and she's completely overwhelmed by what he remembers and how safe he makes her feel. Oblivious to her inner turmoil, George walks over to the kitchen and sees her smoothie in process.

"Is this done?"

"Almost," she answers weakly. "I was going to add some whey protein and a few scoops of chocolate ice cream."

He quirks an eyebrow at that but roots around in the freezer until he finds what he's looking for. "Chocolate ice cream. You are such a rebel. Do you need more ice for that ankle?"

"Oh, no, you don't have to."

"Oh my God, Gigi, relax." He laughs and pulls out a bag of frozen peas. "I'm your knight in shining armor. Don't fight it. Just let it happen."

And he's smiling and so cute and her ankle really does hurt. So she sits on the sofa and watches him move around her kitchen. He looks good there, like he's always been around. In short order he's got everything on a tray table in front of her, and he's pulling her leg into his lap. In the pool, they don't have a lot of physical contact. He's usually up on the deck or perched on a starting block, calling out commands as she swims. She's surprised at how rough and warm his hands are. Carefully, he elevates her ankle and inspects the Ace bandage before shooting her an amused look.

"How long have you been an athlete and you still can't wrap an Ace bandage?"

"Shut up!" He's got one hand on her knee and she's suddenly grateful she shaved her legs the night before.

"I'll fix it for you."

She never in a million years would have described an Ace bandage as erotic before that moment. He holds her foot by the heel, but so gently, like she's made of glass. His eyebrows furrow in concentration. He's doing that thing where he chews on the very corner of his bottom lip. She shoves a big spoonful of smoothie in her mouth and tears her eyes away, but she can still feel him so it's a losing battle, really. Finally, after what feels like a hundred years and a single second all at once, he fastens the end in place, patting her knee gently.

"You okay?"

She nods, not looking back at him. Why is he still holding her leg? "Yep. Yep. Definitely. What movies did you bring? That's much better, thanks."

If he notices the jittery way she's acting, he doesn't comment. Instead he gets up and pops Die Hard in her BluRay player.

"I've been dying to see this in high def. Bruce Willis is the king, am I right?" 

She isn't a huge fan of shoot-em-up movies, but the excited look on his face is enough to convince her to give it a shot. He did bring her soup, after all.

* * *

Several hours and two movies later, they are sprawled out on the sofa. Gigi's foot is propped up on one arm, and her head is resting on George's chest. She can hear his heartbeat and smell his cologne, and she is desperately comfortable. One of his arms is draped over her back, his hand playing with the hem of her shorts like its no big deal.

This moment is the product of a slow migration. Gigi isn't complaining. When the first movie ended, they were semi-cuddled together near the end of the sofa. George got up to switch discs, and for a minute she worried they'd go back to where they started, sitting an appropriate distance apart. She needn't have been concerned. If anything, he pulled her closer when he got back. 

Now the menu screen on movie number two is playing, and neither of them make a move to get up. Cautiously, she rolls up on her side so she can see his face. He's already staring down at her, and her heart pounds when he shifts too, pulling her up his chest and resting his free hand on her neck. The intimacy of this simple touch ruins her. She can't deny how much she cares about him anymore. This isn't about a stupid schoolgirl crush. And based on looks alone, it isn't one-sided either.

"You're really beautiful, you know that?" He sweeps his thumb over her cheekbone, a movement which completely undoes her. She closes her eyes and shudders. They shift again, and now she's fully in his arms, heart pounding erratically, her face inches from his. Her voicebox is missing. Her limbs are frozen. The only movement she can make is to close her eyes as he leans in.

Never in a million years could Gigi begin to explain how it feels to be kissed by George Wickham. The only thing that really comes close is her first memory of fireworks. It is brilliant and terrifying and the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to her. His lips are soft and strong, but not aggressive. If anything, she's the aggressive one, because once she gets a taste of his lips on hers, its all she can do to hold herself back.

He breaks away first with a quiet  _ahem_ , and she tries to catch her breath. When she opens her eyes, he's smiling softly at her.

"I, um," he starts, before cupping her cheek in his hand and laughing. "Was that okay?"

In response, she wraps her arms around his shoulders and pulls him down, bringing his lips back to hers with gusto. Their muffled laughter mixes with the sound of the menu screen.


	7. Detonate

Fitz can tell right away that something’s different.

“All right, spill.” There is no lead-in, just Fitz, plopping down in the extra chair in her cube and staring expectantly. Gigi feels a flush working its way up her cheeks, but she plays it cool. 

“Spill what?”

“You’re glowing. What happened? Is it swimmer boy?”

She rolls her eyes. “Glowing. Pfffft. Whatever, Fitz. You’re crazy.”

“And you’re practically phosphorescent. So spill.”

Gigi hesitates, because the truth is that she’s been bursting at the seams to tell someone,  _anyone_ , about George. William is out of the question, at least for the moment. Fitz is the closest thing she has to a girlfriend in this scenario. He senses her wavering and leans in eagerly.

“Come on, Gigi D. I got your back! What’s the news?”

She hesitates for a single moment longer, weighing the pros and cons. And then she gives in.

“Hekissedme.”

She slaps a hand over her mouth and lets out a little squeal. Fitz snickers and extends a hand for a high five, which she enthusiastically gives.

“I told you all those hours in the pool couldn’t just be about swimming!”

“We weren’t even in the pool,” she says with a smug little grin. “So there!”

“Ah, yes.” Fitz nods knowingly. “He came over to check on you, didn’t he? Classic.”

“He was  _worried_  about me.”

“Who was?”

And just like that, her heart is in her throat. William, who never comes down to her cubicle, William, who has insisted that she be treated like any other employee, has shown up out of the blue. And he’s staring at her with raised eyebrows.

“Myyyyy Interactive Design professor.” She glances at Fitz, hoping he’ll go along with the lie. She has no chance of getting away with it at all if he challenges her. Aside from the slightest eyebrow raise, however, he says nothing.

“Oh? Why was he worried?” William’s forehead is furrowed, and he wears the confused and suspicious look that usually follows her lies.

“I told him that I wouldn’t be able to get my homework done by class this afternoon, you know, because of my trainer appointment? He wanted to make sure I hadn’t seriously hurt myself. It’s really nice how close knit the graphic design department at Stanford is.”

William nods slowly, glancing at a perfectly neutral Fitz during this explanation. “I see. Well, conveniently, that is directly related to what I came to speak to you about.”

“Okay.”

“Fitz, could you…excuse us for a moment?”

Gigi gives Fitz a pleading stare. “He doesn’t have to go, William.”

But her brother just sighs. “Georgiana…”

“Hey, no sweat, Darcy clan.” Fitz holds up his hands, palms out, and retreats from the cubicle. “I got places to be anyway. You do your thing.” With a last sympathetic look at Gigi, he leaves.

Gigi sighs and gestures to Fitz’s recently vacated chair, but William doesn’t sit.

“Well, you’ve got me alone. What exactly was so awful that you couldn’t say it in front of Fitz?”

She hasn’t had a secret from William in a very long time, and while she’s savoring having something that is only between her and George, there is more than a little guilt on her conscience as well. It makes her snappier than she would otherwise be.

“Do not take that tone with me.” His equally arch response makes her feel a little better. Then his voice softens, and her guilt resurges. “You cannot keep on at this pace. I have kept my silence while you pursue this ridiculous plan, but this proves what I have feared all along.”

“Don’t be so melodramatic, William. I’m fine!”

“This time.”

“I’ve been injured before. This isn’t my first rodeo! I don’t know why you’re so worked up about this. By the end of the week I won’t even know I hurt my ankle at all! Remember that time in high school when I broke my arm? That was a million times worse.”

As she protests, his face grows darker and darker.  “I am through discussing this, Georgiana! I knew that this was a mistake, and now you’ve proven me right. I will not allow you to continue to risk injury and your academics in this manner. Especially now that I hear your schoolwork is suffering as a result.”

Gigi stands up, eyes blazing, hands on her hips. “What exactly are you saying?”

“I am telling you that you may choose tennis or swimming, but not both!”

“I think that’s why I moved out in the first place!”

“And perhaps that was a foolish idea!”

They are both speaking at a loud volume now, and Gigi realizes that her cubicle is in the middle of the department and within hearing distance of everyone, including her direct supervisor. She lowers her voice, but does not look away.

“What are you going to do? Cut me off?”

“Do not tempt me.”

She recoils as if she has been slapped, and he shuts his mouth with a snap, but the damage is done.

“This is incredibly unprofessional,  _Mr. Darcy_ ,” she says, now nearing a whisper. This time, she has gotten quieter out of sheer physical necessity. She thinks if she speaks any louder, she will cry. “I suggest you leave now. I have work to do.”

Without looking back, he strides out of her cubicle and around the corner. She doesn’t hear from him for the rest of the day.

* * *

George comes over immediately at the sound of her tears, and as he holds her, she cannot believe that she ever existed without this kind of comfort.

“He’s just so infuriating.” She sniffles and wipes her eyes with the heels of her hands while George rubs her back. “He treats me like a child, even though he knows I’m an adult, and I’m fully capable of making adult decisions.”

“Of course you are,” George says soothingly. “Your brother is just…well, he can’t help the way he is. We shouldn’t judge him for that.”

“He can help it! He can help it by not being so completely controlling. I have never been anything but good! I never gave him trouble in high school, I was the valedictorian of my class, I got into Stanford, I get straight A’s. And  _still_ , he treats me like I’m that same thirteen-year-old girl who he had to leave school to take care of. He can’t see me for what I am.”

Her rant is mostly true, although she knows it glosses over some unfortunate incidents involving alcohol and cigarettes that occurred in high school. Still, considering what her peers were getting up to in that same time period, Gigi considers her behavior exemplary. George just smiles at her sadly.

“Darcy needs to be in control. It makes him a good businessman, but sometimes…"

He trails off, and Gigi hiccups, looking up at his suddenly serious face.

“What happened between the two of you?” she whispers. He doesn’t meet her eyes.

“It was a long time ago, Peach.”

She reaches down and grabs his hand, threading their fingers together. “Tell me.”

“He’s your brother.”

“So what? That means I know better than anyone how he can be. Come on, how bad is it?”

George still doesn’t look at her, but his mouth turns downward, and he takes a big breath.

“George? What happened?”

“You know your dad and I were pretty close, right?”

She’s confused by the subject change, but she nods. “Yeah. Of course. He loved you.”

George takes another deep breath. “So he always told me that when I was ready, he would make sure I got a good education. He and your mom actually set aside money for my college fund. It was … incredibly generous. And I wasn’t ready, you know, I didn’t want to… when I graduated from high school, I just wasn’t there yet.”

“I know. I remember.”

“You know, Darcy thought I was being an idiot at the time.” George smiles ruefully and shakes his head, and Gigi snorts. “He told me that I needed to grow up and be responsible.”

“Sounds familiar,” she mutters. He squeezes her hand.

“And then your parents had their accident. And it really made me think, you know? Life is short.”

More tears leak out of her eyes, of a different sort this time. The pain of her parents’ loss is an old one, but she doesn’t think it will ever heal completely. Every new mention of them brings back an echo of the shock on that long ago February day, looking into her Aunt Catherine’s eyes and wailing because she knew that nothing would ever be the same again.

“So I got my applications together and I went to your brother. I told him my plans. I asked for the money your dad set aside.”

A sinking feeling takes over her, and she reaches up with her free hand to touch his face. When he finally meets her gaze, his blue eyes are hard. She flinches, but doesn’t speak, doesn’t ask. Suddenly, she doesn’t want to know.

“He said no.”

 Gigi is already shaking her head. “He wouldn’t-“

“I’m sorry.” George cuts her off and lets go of her hand, leaving her cold. “I shouldn’t have told you this. He’s your brother, of course you’re on his side.”

“I’m not on anyone’s side! I just don’t understand. Why did he say no? I can remember Dad talking about that. He talked about you and William at Harvard together like it was a foregone conclusion.”

“It wasn’t in the will, Gigi.”

“So what? You’re practically family.”

“Yeah, well, I guess after everything, that’s not how Darcy saw it. And I get it. I hadn’t made the best choices after high school. My life was in neutral, you know? I wasn’t doing anything important. I wasn’t a CEO or anything, that's for sure.”

“Not yet, maybe, but surely -”

“He said no, Gigi. And I’ve been working to save up money ever since. That’s why I coach swim clubs and work at a bar. That’s why I don’t have a college degree. And you know, I wasn’t very gracious about his refusal, and we said some things, and I just couldn’t see myself hanging around waiting for scraps anymore.”

Gigi nods mutely, trying to process the enormity of this situation. She wants to believe it isn’t true, but all the evidence is to the contrary.

“I’m sorry, George. It isn’t what Daddy would have wanted.”

George sighs again, and he leans over and rests his face in the crook of her neck. Gratefully, she clutches him to her and holds on with all her might.

“Maybe Darcy was right about me. Maybe I am worthless.”

“Don’t say that,” she says fiercely, holding him even tighter. “George, you are a brilliant coach. And I have had a lot of coaches. You’re so talented, and smart, and funny, and you can’t let one person –“

“The guy who was practically my brother and actually is your brother?”

“You can’t let  _one person_  define you. I am so impressed with you. You’re perfect.”

It strikes her as they sit there in her quiet apartment, holding onto each other for dear life, that she has gone from being the comforted to the comforter. She finds that she likes it very much.

Eventually, he pulls away and smiles at her, cupping her chin with one hand. “Well, I can’t say I’m totally bummed by how things turned out. After all, I have you now.”

She boosts herself up and kisses him lightly, and her lips make promises that she isn’t ready to make out loud quite yet.

“Yeah, you do. You’ve got me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **holds breath** sorry this took a little longer than past updates. I hope it satisfies :)


	8. Impasse

William calls the next morning, but she doesn’t pick up. She can’t face him, not after what they said, and not after what George told her. He doesn’t leave a voicemail, and he doesn’t call again. He doesn’t come down to her office. The ball is apparently in her court now. 

George is her rock. He stays over every night that week, holding her close while she sleeps and kissing her whenever she wants him to. Waking up next to him, his warm, solid body inches away, takes her breath away in the best way possible.

In the morning he makes her coffee and they sit and whisper secrets. He tells her about his plans for the future, about the things they would do if they just had the money and the time.

For her part, Gigi luxuriates in all the free time she has without having to workout or swim or practice with the tennis team. Whole pieces of her days that she hadn’t truly appreciated before became precious. She packs a picnic lunch and sits in the sun with George in the grass for hours one afternoon. She takes naps after class. On Friday, she even skips her afternoon lab and goes to see a matinee at the student movie theater.

She is having such a good time that it takes her by surprise when she realizes that her week of freedom is up, and she has to go back to real life. George just laughs.

“It’s probably for the best. I think my roommates have given me up for dead.”

This rouses her curiosity. George has never mentioned his roommates before, and she’s not exactly sure where he lives.

“I want to see your place,” she says, sitting up and setting down the ice cream she’s been picking at.

“Um, no, you really don’t.” He laughs, but he also sounds embarrassed. “It’s really just a place to sleep. There are four of us and two bedrooms. Jack’s ‘room’ is technically a walk-in closet, and I sleep on a mattress in the living room.”

Against her will, her mouth falls open. “Oh, George.“

But she can’t find the words, and he’s not meeting her eyes.

“It isn’t a big deal, Peach. You know how it is.”

But she doesn’t, and once again the injustice of George’s situation is drilled home. She has a fancy condo with all the space she could want and she has it all to herself. She even has an extra bedroom for guests. And George, George who her parents loved and wanted the best for, he has a mattress on the floor in a crowded apartment. It makes her want to throttle her brother. How could he not see what he was condemning his friend to?

“I’m going to go to William and, I don’t know, I just…”

George grabs her hand and squeezes. “Don’t. He’ll only get angry at you, and I don’t want that. How about we go for a swim instead?”  

The sad smile on his face convinces her. She grabs her bag in one hand and his hand in the other.

* * *

The next time she sees Fitz, he’s wearing an uncharacteristically solemn look. She’s making copies for Miss Dashwood, and there’s a design meeting she really wants to sit in on starting in ten minutes, so she misses just how serious he is until it’s too late. 

“Hey, Fitz,” she says absently, stacking the stapled packets together quickly. “What’s up?”

“I was hoping you could tell me.”

His arms are crossed and his eyebrows raised, and his face doesn’t even hint at a smile. In that moment, her stomach sinks and her throat closes, and she worries that something has happened to William. She’s angry at him, yes, but he is the only family she has left.

“What’s wrong? Did something happen? Is William okay?”

Fitz’s expression softens. “He’s fine, Gigi D. Well, fine may be exaggerating. He’s been pretty cranky this week, even for Darcy. And I have a feeling you know why.”

She doesn’t answer, suddenly intensely interested in making sure that all the edges of the packets line up just so. When it becomes clear she’s not going to engage on this particular topic, Fitz sighs and pats her shoulder.

“Don’t leave him hanging for too long, okay? He loves you, even when he’s being an ass. Especially then, actually.”

She rolls her eyes and turns to respond to that gem, but Fitz is already out the door.

During the meeting, she wonders what she would even say to William now that she knows about George and the money. She wonders what he would do if she wasn’t his beloved little sister, what he would think of her. That she is reckless, irresponsible, naïve? How different is her situation from George’s, when everything is boiled down to the most basic elements? How close is she to being turned away, from being judged and found wanting?

William doesn’t understand what it’s like to not be certain about who he is or what he’s doing. He doesn’t comprehend self-doubt. He is staid and steadfast, and he has been that way for his entire life. Even as a child he was serious and responsible, ready to take the whole world on his small shoulders. Gigi used to admire him for that; now she is not so sure that it’s an admirable quality.

She hesitates on her way out of the building later, stopping by the elevator and contemplating riding it up to his office. But what would she say? She isn’t sorry. If he wants to apologize, he knows how to find her. Another surge of irritation takes over, and she turns her back on the elevator and strides out the door to the parking lot with a bounce in her step. She doesn’t want to be late for her session with George.

* * *

After her injury, it takes a few days to get back into her regular swing of working out and getting all of her schoolwork in order at the same time. Before she knows it, three weeks have passed. 

She gets permission to work from home during the week leading up to her swim team try-out. George cooks for her most nights before he goes to work at the bar, and that half hour together every night grounds her.

She loves him.

She’s not sure when it happened; she only knows that it did. When he leaves her sight, she wants to make him promise to return as soon as possible. When she sees him chatting with one of the other girls who is a regular at the pool, she wants to wrap her arms around him and kiss him so that there is no doubt just who this beautiful boy belongs to. She does not put a great deal of thought into the anxiety that her love seems to come wrapped up in. For Gigi, this is just what it means to be romantically involved. It consumes her, this love, filling her thoughts when she should be working or studying. She is giddy with it.

George can’t make it to her try-out. He’s offered a shift at the bar last minute, and he has to take it. She pouts dramatically, but he just gently chucks her chin up with his thumb and forefinger and smiles.

“A guy’s gotta eat, Peach. Since my coaching gig with you is about to end, I have to make up the extra somewhere.”

She wraps her arms around his middle and nestles into his chest, sighing deeply. “I know. I just wish you didn’t have to do it _now_.”

“Well, not all of us are independently wealthy. And you know what they say – money makes the world go round.”

She is still thinking about that little gem that night when he comes in, exhausted and smelling like beer, at midnight. She made him promise to come over after his shift so she could tell him about her try-out, and here he is, clearly ready for bed but still there, keeping his promise to her.

When she tells him that she came within four tenths of a second of her personal record on the 100 free, the smile she loves so much shines through.

“I’m so proud of you.”

They are words she is used to hearing from William, but from George they carry a different sort of weight. It is only when she is lying tangled in his arms, listening to the heavy breathing that means he is out cold, that she realizes she never even told William about the try out today. He is completely unaware that there is anything to be proud of her for in this moment.

It sets off a minor pang. She hasn’t had a meal with him since their argument that day in her cubicle at Pemberley, and while they aren’t actively ignoring each other, things have been cold and stand-offish. They exchange brief text messages, and when they run into each other at work, they chat for five minutes at a time, but it is clear that neither one of them is backing down. William thinks he is in the right, and Gigi is just as sure that she is.

Sometimes, in her daydreams, she imagines what she will say to him when he finds about George. Because she will have to tell him about George eventually, and she knows this. George is part of her life now, an important part, and that means that sooner or later, George and William will have to resolve their differences. They’ll have to, whether they want to or not.


	9. No Apologies

The news that she has made the swim team comes at the end of a very long day. She is sitting at her desk after hours, trying to finish an extra assignment that she picked up for the pure enjoyment of it, which is a foreign experience for her. It is also the first real indication she has had that she is doing something right with her education. She loves design, and she loves her job. She hopes that Miss Dashwood will invite her to apply to work for Pemberley part-time, as is customary with interns who do well in their time at the company.

So she is exhausted and her eyes are sore and she is thinking longingly of the dinner plans she made with George when she finds out. And despite the fact that she is still holding a grudge and he really hasn’t apologized, her first desire is to tell William.

The truly shocking part is that this impulse is only in very small part motivated by a need to say _I told you so_. Mostly she wants to tell him because he is William, and she loves him, and she misses him, and after all, this silent treatment thing has gone on long enough.

So she takes a deep breath and rides the elevator up to William’s office. Unsurprisingly, he is still there, typing feverishly. Manila file folders and stacks of paper are lined up in neat piles on and around his desk. The glasses perched on his nose and the dim lights are both signs that his eyes are strained, which means he has probably been burning the candle at both ends. When she lived with him, she always took it upon herself to make him slow down when he got too involved in his work. Now there is no one there to look after him, no one to notice if he comes home late or not at all. She is startled to realize that their relationship is not nearly as one-sided as she sometimes believes.

He looks up, probably expecting Mrs. Reynolds or some high-level executive. When he sees her, his face downshifts into neutral. He nods.

“Gigi. This is a surprise.”

It amuses her that he can utter certain phrases in such a deadpan. Most people would associate what he just said with happiness or annoyance or even genuine surprise, but William’s face and tone convey none of those. His poker face is the best, however she has known him all her life, and she can see the apprehension in the set of his jaw and the hope in the lift of his brow. He may hold his cards close to his chest, but they are not close enough to fool her.

“Hello, William. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

That earns her the smallest quirk of his lips. He gestures to the chair opposite him and takes off his glasses, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands.

“Not at all. I should probably take a break. What can I do for you?”

“Nothing. This is…a social call.”

A hesitant smile. “How nice. You have certainly been busy lately.”

She nods absently, trying not to react to what she’s sure he is insinuating. “That’s true, I’ve had a lot on my plate. I found out today that I made next year’s swim team.”

He nods, not meeting her eyes, but she knows that look he’s making. He hasn’t let go of their argument. “Have you spoken to Coach Andsley?”

She sits down primly and crosses her legs. “Not yet. I only just got the news. I’ll figure out my next step soon, but I want to just savor the accomplishment for now.”

“Does that mean, that is, are you considering what we talked about?”

Her anger surges again, but it is a perfectly reasonable question in light of what she’s just said. So instead of lashing out, she takes a steadying breath and shrugs. She can be an adult about this. 

“I haven’t made any decisions. I am considering _every_ option.”

“That is…very responsible.”

“I’m glad you think so.” And she is. Gratitude warms her, and she grins. “You look like you’ve been working too hard, brother of mine. What do you say we go get a bite to eat?”

The neutrality falls away and he gives her a full-blown smile. “I would like that very much. Just give me five minutes to finish up here.”

“Great. I have to make a quick call, and then I’m ready when you are.”

She ducks out into the waiting area outside his office and calls George. She gets his voicemail.

_“This is George. You know what to do.”_

The brief message makes her smile, although that may just be the sound of his voice. At the sound of the beep, she forces herself to concentrate.

“George. Hi. It’s Gigi. Obviously, you know that. Um, so, listen, William and I are going to get some dinner. I know you and I had plans, but I haven’t seen him in a while and I really think it’s important, you know? I’d still like to see you soon. Maybe tonight, or tomorrow even? Give me a call, or a text, or…yeah. Whatever. Okay, bye.”

She hangs up in a fluster. Since realizing that she loves George, it has gotten harder not to just burst out with the words: on the phone, before bed, at dinner. This is not the first awkward voicemail she has left for him.

“Did you have a prior engagement?” William comes out then, still in the process of shrugging on his coat. “I hope I am not intruding.”

“Not at all, easy enough to reschedule. I wouldn’t have asked you if it was a problem.”

Satisfied, he extends an arm to her. “Good. Now, where shall we go? My treat.”

She isn’t ready to tell him about George yet, but as he tells her about the things she’s missed and she fills him in on her try-out and her classes, she feels something start to unwind in her heart. It isn’t always easy to be William’s little sister, but he does love her dearly. He may be upset at first, but when he sees how much she loves George, and how George loves her, she knows he’ll come around.

* * *

They order dinner in and eat at William’s condo, and even though he makes his disapproval clear, he allows her a couple of small glasses of wine. She will be twenty in just two weeks, and while he points out that she will still not be the legal age for consumption, he also acknowledges that it is safer for her to drink illegally in his presence than alone or, God forbid, in a bar.  

Of course, he practically forces her to undergo sobriety testing before she gets into her car, but considering the way their parents died, it is a measure of over-protectiveness that she can fully understand.

The lights are on in her condo when she gets home. George is sitting in a stool in the kitchen, a beer in front of him, and two empty bottles on the counter.

“George?”

“You’re home.”

He isn’t drunk, not really, but he is definitely south of sober. She sets her keys down and approaches him warily. “Yes. Didn’t you get my message? I called.”

“Oh, I got your message. How was dinner? How is your dear brother?”

“Good. William is…good.”

“Good.”

He takes another swig of his beer, and she reaches out tentatively and touches his shoulder. “Are you okay? Are you mad? I’m sorry, I didn’t think-"

“I heard you made the team.”

Her eyes widen in shock. “Who told you that?”

“I spend a lot of time in the pool, Peach. I know people. People who know that I was coaching you. All that work, and you don’t even tell me yourself? I have to hear from some stranger at the pool?”

“George, I’m so sorry, I didn’t even-"

“And then you just blow me off! Darcy has shown you zero support through this whole thing, and yet that’s who you go off with when you want to celebrate.”

“William is my brother, George, he loves me. We’re having a bit of a disagreement about swimming, sure, but-"

“A bit of a disagreement? That’s rich. And what does he say about me, Gigi? Does he know that I spend four or five nights a week in your bed? Did you tell him that when you were out _celebrating_?”

She has not seen this side of him before, and she is completely thrown by the vindictive sneer he gives her. The floor feels like its tilting beneath her, and she isn’t sure what to say.

“I wa-wanted to tell him about us, George, but I didn’t know where we stood.”

He pushes his beer away and stands up. “Where we stand? I love you, that’s where we stand. But after tonight I guess I know how you feel about me.”

Her heart bursts and breaks simultaneously. “George, no! You don’t understand.”

He turns his back on her, missing the way her eyes fill with tears, happiness and sadness mixing on her cheeks. She grabs his arm, pulls him towards her, forces him to face her.

“George.” He looks up, and she can see tears glimmering in his eyes, too. They give her courage. “George, I love you. I love you so much. I was afraid to tell you. I didn’t want to ruin everything by opening my big stupid mouth. _Please_. Please, George.”  

He kisses her forcefully, hands gripping her shoulders with more force than usual. It hurts, but in a good way. She tastes her tears mingling with his beer. In the moment, she loses control of her hands, and she is reaching for any part of him she can touch.

His skin burns against her, and she tugs at his shirt, digging her fingers into his muscular back as he bites and sucks at her neck. This animal, purely physical _need_ is brand new and wonderful, and she embraces it without thinking. She gives as good as she gets, reveling in the power that surges when he groans into her skin.

“Not here,” he pants in her ear. The sound shoots through her and sets her entire body on fire. “Not like this.”

She barely has time to nod before he’s lifting her up, carrying her toward the bedroom. Blood pulses in her ears, and she can’t stop touching him, kissing him. _This is real_ , she reminds herself giddily. _This is happening._

There is no more talking that night.


	10. Everything Changes

Gigi wakes up in the still, dark early morning with a start and the realization that she really needs to pee. George's face is resting on her shoulder, and his arms cradle her. In his sleep, he has curled around her body. Carefully, trying hard not to disturb him, she shifts him to one side. He mumbles, and his hands flex around her hip and stomach.

"Shhhh." With a gentle hand, she pushes his hair back from his forehead and kisses him softly. "I'll be right back."

He resists for another few seconds before she is able to scoot out from underneath him, untangling her feet from his and sliding to the ground with a quiet thump.

She doesn't turn on the light in the bathroom. The nightlight sheds a soft, yellow glow, and as she washes her hands, she stares into the mirror and examines her naked body. She doesn't look any different than she did the day before. There is no telltale mark, no flashing sign. Just a feeling, in the very pit of her stomach. And it's good, it's so good, but for no reason whatsoever, she starts to cry.

It isn't the frantic sob of the night before. There is no desperation here, only silent tears leaking slowly out of both eyes and falling onto the bathroom countertop. With a muffled laugh, she remembers what her high school health teacher told her class about sex.

_Girls experience sex in a very emotional way,_ he had warned.  _Be careful when you choose a partner. Sex changes everything_ ,  _and it may not change in the way you want it to._

She feels strung-out, needy, unsure. Whatever just happened, she wants to make sure it keeps happening. But the rules of their relationship are so unclear. In the same minute, she's flying high on his heartfelt declaration of love and she's carelessly breaking his heart. The attraction and emotion bound up in their lovemaking is undeniable, but it all feels like too much to separate out. Overwhelming. She is overwhelmed. 

She shakes her head and splashes her face with cold water, dissipating the unwelcome thoughts. Whatever comes next, she and George will face it together.

* * *

When she goes out for class, George is still in bed. She lets him sleep but leaves him a note inviting him to dinner after practice that night. They need to talk. Plans must be made. Despite looming midterms, she can't focus in her lecture. She doodles on her notebook, imagining what she will say to William when she tells him. He will be angry, especially because he won't like being confronted with his past wrongdoings regarding George. 

_George and I are in love_ , she scribbles.  _I know you don't know what that's like, but William, he means everything to me._

The words give her a thrill of satisfaction as she stares at them. Her brother has never been in love like this. He had girlfriends, she knows, before everything. But William is circumspect and analytical, and he is not one to be tugged into irrationality for a woman. She's not sure he's capable. Even though he is a loving man, deeply loyal to his few friends and passionate about his work, the idea of William as a romantic human being is hilarious in its unlikelyhood. What he needs, she reflects, is a woman who pulls him out of his comfort zone. Of course, what people want and what is good for them is often radically different, and in this sense it does not surprise her that he has been alone for so long. Maybe seeing her happy with George will wake him up to the possibilties.

By the end of her class, she has an entire page covered in tiny hearts and declarations of love, with very few actual notes. It would be embarrassing on any other day, but as it is, she just shakes her head at herself and looks around the room for someone who may be able to help her. A boy she recognizes from her lab is exiting the lecture hall in front of her, and she jogs to catch up.

"Hey, Jeremy, right?"

The boy turns with a smile. "Yeah? Oh, hi. It's Gigi, isn't it?"

"Yes! Hey, I was wondering if I could get your notes from class. I was a little...um, spacey today, and I missed some things."

He laughs. "Yeah, Professor Kurtz isn't exactly rivoting, is he?"

"Oh, come on, he isn't all that bad. I just had an off day."

They walk out of the building together.

"Uh huh," Jeremy says, rolling his eyes. "Sure. That's totally not a lie."

She laughs and shakes her head. " _Anyway_. So not the point. Can I have your notes?"

"Yeah, of course. I take them on my computer, though, so can I get your email address?"

"Wow, smart." She waves her notebook at him. "I hate squeezing into the stadium seating with my laptop, so I do things the old fashioned way."

Ripping a piece of paper out of the back of her notebook, she jots down her student email address. "You're a lifesaver, Jeremy. Thank you."

"No problem. See you in class!"

He turns and walks away, and she's still congratulating herself on a normal interaction with a classmate when she sees George. He's leaning against the hood of her car with a bright bouquet of Gerbera daisies and staring at her, his eyes practically smouldering. It's a look she could get used to. She beams and runs over to him, jumping into his arms with a happy squeal.

"What are you doing here?"

He kisses her in a way that makes her wish they weren't standing on a busy street between classes, surrounded by students making their way to and from class. "I can't just show up, just because?"

Her cheeks hurt from the way she's smiling, but she can't make herself stop. "Of course you can. Are those for me?"

"Oh! Yeah. I thought you deserved them."  He thrusts the bouquet at her and she gathers them up to her nose, trying to figure out just want he means. Are the flowers a reward for sex? An apology? A token of love and commitment? She gives up.

"Why do I deserve flowers? Not complaining at all, by the way."

He frowns and tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. "I wanted to let you know that I was sorry for yesterday. For how I acted."

She flushes and covers her face further with the flowers, remembering. "You don't have anything to apologize for, George."  

"I was a jerk," he protests. He holds her close and buries his face in her neck, and she shivers at the hot, wet feeling of his breath on her skin. And then he mumbles, "I wouldn't blame you if you decided to just get rid of me."

"Hey!" She pulls away at that, putting one hand on his cheek and rubbing the scruff there just a little bit for effect. "I don't want to get rid of you. I love you, remember?"

His eyes are fixed on her chin. "I just get so crazy when I think about it. Your brother has made it clear what he thinks of me and my choices, and I couldn't bear it if he convinced you to leave me."

"He won't. I won't let him." She kisses him, but his mind is clearly elsewhere, and he pulls away.

"I know how important he is to you, Peach. I don't want to get in the middle of anything. I want to be there for you, but I won't stay where I'm not welcome." 

"Stop it!" She sets the flowers on the hood of her car and hugs him close, pushing herself up on tiptoes to get her mouth close to his ear. "You are not in the middle of anything. You are exactly where I want you to be. I'll make him understand. You were so close once. Remember that? You just had a little bit of a detour, that's all." 

George snorts and shakes his head.  "My little optimist."

With a quiet sigh, she kisses him one more time, trying to pour all her reassurance and affection into one carress. "I have to go to work. I'm sorry. Dinner tonight? My treat?"

He gives her a lopsided grin and smiles. "Only if you promise me you'll put those flowers on your desk at work today. I want all those arty types to know that you're taken."

"Deal." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this reminded me of how awesome it was to be a teenager and completely sure I knew everything. 
> 
> And then it reminded me how I am so glad I never have to be a teenager again.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	11. Before the Dam Breaks

The flowers are still sitting on her desk when William comes to speak to her about her birthday a week later. They are hard to miss, sitting in a vase that she swiped from the break room, taking up all the space between her monitor and the wall of her cubicle. His eyes linger on them when he walks in, and she holds her breath, waiting for the inevitable question.

Instead, he gives her a thoughtful expression and smiles. "I've made our customary reservations for next Tuesday. I've invited Fitz and his boyfriend. Are there any school friends you'd like to invite? I can still change the reservations."

His eyes dart back to the bouquet again, just for a second. She hesitates. George's concerns about William aren't entirely ridiculous, and selfishly, she doesn't want to ruin her birthday with a big confrontation. If she tells him now, he may still be upset at her birthday dinner. Putting the conversation off isn't cowardly, it is prudent. She swallows hard and makes a mental note to make separate plans with George. She doesn't want a repeat of the other night, after all.

"No. No one I can think of."

He purses his lips and levels her with a look that so strongly recalls her father it makes her heart hurt. It is William's equivalent to her pout, a truth laser beam that cuts through all her feeble lies and makes her feel like a child with her hand caught in the cookie jar.

"I'm not an idiot, Gigi. Nor do I live in the dark ages. You're a young woman. You can tell me if you have a...a boyfriend."

She drops her eyes to her keyboard and starts to type blindly, a sure sign of evasion, but she can't meet his eyes, she just can't.

"What makes you think I have a boyfriend?"

He doesn't say anything, but she can feel his eyes on her back. George's flowers seem to get brighter with every passing moment. Silence fills the space between them, a tangible third party in her tiny office space. Finally, after an eternity, he sighs.

"Okay. Keep your secrets for now." The slight catch at the end of his words is familiar. It means she's hurt him. Not enough for him to be truly upset with her, but he is wounded. She hears him start to walk away, and she turns in her chair.

"William?"

He looks over his shoulder, eyebrows raised.

"Thanks."

* * *

She doesn't see George much in the days leading up to her birthday. He picks up extra shifts at the bar and is usually sleeping or working when she doesn't have class, practice, or work. They mostly communicate through voicemails and text messages, but it isn't enough. She misses his physical presence, she misses the way he touches her and the way he looks at her. She misses the now-familiar weight next to her when she goes to bed at night. She steals away to his bar several times in the interim, but he is distracted and short with her. 

Four days before her birthday, they eat dinner together. He is tired and quiet. She finishes eating before he has done anything but pick at his chicken. She sighs loudly and pushes her plate away.

"What's wrong?"

He startles, picking his head up and looking at her with wide eyes. "What?"

"Something is wrong. You've barely said two words and you're not eating. Tell me? Come on, maybe I can help."

"That's sweet, Peach, but I don't think you can." He shrugs uneasily and pokes at his food again.

"Hey." She reaches across and tugs the fork out of his hands before capturing both his hands in hers. "Whatever it is, I can't help if you don't tell me."

He frowns. "It's just the usual crap. You know...money stuff. I don't want to bother you."

"What kind of money stuff?" she presses. With a loud sigh, George meets her eye.

"Jack's moving out. Guess he's had enough of the closet life. And that means my rent is going up, and I can't afford to stay there. The other guys like having the extra room, so they're not going to look for someone to replace him. I don't know what I'm going to do."

She laughs, relieved that it's such a simple problem. Disbelief and annoyance crosses his face. "Seriously, you're laughing?"

"No, it's not that. It's just...that's easy. Move in here. Move in with me. I have so much space."

He doesn't respond for a minute, just looks at her, and she worries that she's said too much too soon. On the one hand, it is a monumental step, but on the other...it's George. He needs her, and when she needed him, he was there.

"You sure?"

She takes a deep breath and nods. "Yeah. Completely."

His answering smile is blinding.

* * *

George's things start to trickle into her apartment almost immediately. First it's little things, like a coffee mug or a framed poster of Vin Diesel propped up against the wall of her bedroom. Then his clothes start to fill in the empty spaces in her walk-in closet. By the time she's getting dressed for her birthday dinner with William, Fitz, and Brandon, he is almost completely moved in. He is planning on bringing over the last of his things while she's out, and then they're going dancing. 

In spite of her fears, he isn't remotely offended when she tells him about her conversation with William and her decision to hold off on telling him. He even laughs.

"Gigi Darcy, international woman of mystery." His voice goes up an octave and he bats his eyelashes. " _What makes you think I have a boyfriend?_ Please. As if just asking that isn't a dead giveaway."

"He didn't press the issue," she says, a little annoyed at his teasing. "I thought we agreed it was better to break it to him gently."

He creeps up behind her and grabs her around the waist, kissing her up her neck to nibble on her ear. She fights the shiver than runs up her back, but in the end she just melts into him, enjoying every second until he breaks away.

"Whatever you think is best, Peach. I certainly don't mind keeping this all to myself." 

* * *

 

Dinner at the birthday boy or girl's favorite restaurant has always been the custom in the Darcy family. Over the years, the restaurants change, but the tradition never does. The best part of this yearly privilege is that the attendees of this dinner cannot object, no matter what the restaurant. It's how Gigi convinced her brother to eat sushi for the first time, and how William introduced her to the raw food movement. 

This year it is Thai food at a little place that Gigi found six months back. Fitz insists that he wants his food seasoned hot, "like the locals eat it," and two bites in his face is sweating and he's stuffing his mouth with bread.

Brandon, Fitz's boyfriend, just rolls his eyes and laughs before shoving over his plate to share. Apparently, adventures into dangerous culinary territory are par for the course with Fitz. 

They're digging into dessert when Brandon says it. "So, birthday girl, where's your boy toy?"

Fitz stops chewing, and his eyes go wide. He's frantically shaking his head at Brandon, but it's too late. William raises his eyebrows and turns to face her, a smile hinting at the corners of his mouth. The hand-in-the-cookie-jar feeling returns full force.

"Wha-what do you mean?" she manages to squeak out. She convinces no one. Neither does Fitz, when he chimes in a second later.

"Gigi doesn't have a boyfriend, babe, you're thinking of my friend, ah, Jenny. You remember, from business development?" 

Brandon looks from Gigi, who is bright red, to William, to Fitz, whose eyes are very wide indeed. Slowly, he nods.

"Uh, yes. That must be who I was thinking of." 

"It must be," William says drily. "Because my sister assured me just the other day that there was no one of import to invite to this dinner. The title  _boyfriend_ does garner a little importance in the life of a young woman these days, unless I am very much mistaken." 

The teasing is a good sign, but all it accomplishes is to frustrate her. And she shouldn't be frustrated, not since he's being such a good sport about everything, but she is anyway. Because he is the reason that her boyfriend isn't at this dinner, even though he doesn't know it. And so she snaps.

"Not that you'd have any idea." 

The smile goes out of his eyes in an instant, and Fitz clears his throat loudly. "I think I may have to get the recipe for this. What do you think, Brandon, can I replicate it at home?" 

Guilt fills her belly, and she tries to smile at her brother, to smooth over the rough edges and apologize with a single look the way she used to be able to, but she can't. The night ends not long after that, and instead of going dancing, Gigi finds herself curled up with George, nursing the bottle of wine he brought home until her mind goes fuzzy, and wishing life was as uncomplicated as it seemed a few months ago.


	12. Sorry, Peach

The uneasy truce that she and William had reached vanishes in the wake of her birthday, and they are back to being near strangers in the halls of Pemberley. She knows, logically, that this is mostly her doing. William is stubborn, but he is also her older brother and her only family, and if she were to bridge the gap, he would undoubtedly follow.

It is George who holds her back.

He doesn’t do it on purpose, she knows that. The two men couldn’t be more different, but the one thing that Gigi knows they have in common is a desire for her to be happy and loved. George never lets her leave the condo without a kiss (this delightful habit makes her late for class more than once). He tells her every day how lost he’d be without her. But any time she mentions William or brings up the possibility of just telling her brother what is going on between them, a look crosses over his face. And no matter what he says next, it is the look that always stops her in her tracks.

It is the face of a man who doesn’t know who she will choose. And it breaks her heart, because for all his charm and confidence, she is learning that George is just a young boy at heart, and one who has been disappointed by the world much more frequently than she has. That vulnerability convinces her to take things slow with William. She doesn't push.

“I couldn’t live without you, Peach,” he says one night. They are lying in bed and he is playing with her hair, twisting strands together and them combing them out with his fingertips. “I just worry that he won’t understand how I feel about you. Or how you feel about me.”

“I’ll make him understand,” she mummers sleepily. “Just as soon as you’re ready. We’ll make him understand.”

But George is never quite ready. And she is in no hurry to pop the blissful bubble that they have created for themselves. And so she doesn’t. And they don’t. And time passes.

After several weeks, it almost feels natural to be this disconnected from William. She reassures herself that this is normal. College is a time to break away and find oneself, not to cling to the structure of family. Her brother won’t always be there to save her, and more importantly, she doesn’t want him to be. She is her own woman. She is independent.

Nothing makes her feel more like this is true than the day Ellie Dashwood calls her into her office with a smile and congratulates her on all the hard work she’s done over the last several months.

“It would thrill me to no end if you’d apply for a part-time position with the Graphics Department, Gigi. I know that this job has been difficult at times, but everyone here loves you and you always turn out quality work, no matter how long it takes. We don’t often see that with interns, and even less frequently with students who have schedules like yours.”

She wants to jump up and down and squeal with joy, but she restrains herself to a very adult smile and an enthusiastic nod.

“I’d be happy to, Miss Dashwood.”

She texts Fitz with the news, and then belatedly sends a copy of the same message to William. He probably knows already, as most hiring decisions in the home office end up crossing his desk at some point in the process, but she wants to let him know personally.

Fitz replies immediately with animated emoticon images that keep her laughing for most of the rest of the afternoon. William does not respond at all. She tries not to feel stung by his silence.

Instead, she rushes home to tell George, who immediately calls in sick for his shift at the bar so they can celebrate. He pops open a bottle of wine, despite the fact that it is three in the afternoon, and they clink glasses and grin at each other.

“I knew you could do it,” he says happily. But there is something off in the way he looks at her, and it takes her a minute to realize-he’s sad, too.

“What’s wrong?”

She sets down her glass and he mimics her immediately before pulling her into his arms and on top of him. She settles into a more comfortable position automatically, hooking her leg up over his hip and leaning into his shoulder.

“You’re going to be so busy, you won’t have time for me anymore.”

She laughs and drops a kiss on his neck. A little moan rumbles out of his chest and she giggles before trailing more kisses up to his ear.

“I’ll always have time for you, silly,” she whispers. He answers by pushing her shirt up and going right for her bra, unhooking the clasps with a single flip of his fingers. The skill and accuracy of this move is impressive and a little disconcerting, but Gigi doesn’t question it. She simply shrugs out of the undergarment and tugs at his shirt in return, running her hands all over the planes of his chest as the tee disappears behind the couch.

She is just contemplating pulling him into the bedroom so they can celebrate properly when she hears the key in the lock to her front door.

There is only one person, apart from George, who has a key to her condo. And he promised – _promised-_ to only use it in an emergency.

She is stuck between panicking about what potential emergency could have arisen and panicking because George is half-naked on her couch, she isn’t wearing a bra, and William is about to walk in.

And walk in he does. A bottle of champagne is under one arm, and a small bag of groceries is in the other. When he sees the two of them, still tangled together, his face goes through a series of emotions in a matter of moments. She knows the depth of his shock because each emotion is crystal clear as it passes. Surprise. Confusion. Rage.

He is about to open his mouth, to say something she knows they will both regret later, and so she jumps up and speaks first.

“William, just wait. I know this is a surprise-"

Her brother emits a strangled, choking sound, but she presses on.

“I know this is a surprise,” she says again, “but give me a chance to explain. George and I are together. We have been for a couple of months now, and it’s serious. I know that the two of you had a falling out, and we’ll talk about that, but right now I just need you to understand that George and I are in love and we’re happy. Don’t ask me to give up that happiness, William. I won’t do it, not even for you.”

“Georgiana," he chokes out her name and it is almost comical how strangled he sounds. "Words cannot begin to express how disappointed I am in you at this moment.”

George stands up then, slings an arm over her shoulder and grins at William. She gathers strength from the touch and sputters out a reply.

“Y-You’re disappointed? Because I fell in love?”

“I am disappointed because you have proven to be such a poor judge of character. George Wickham does not love you. He cannot. He is not capable. I know him much better than you do, trust me on this point.”

She glances up at George, who is still smiling affably at William. Something new has crept into his eyes, something alien, but she attributes it to hearing William speak about him in such a way.

“You don’t know him at all! He told me what you did, William, how you wouldn't give him the money that was set aside for him. How could you turn him away like that? Knowing what Daddy wanted, how could you force him out on his own, with no help? Is that what you do when people don’t measure up to your standards?”

He is still standing there, the door to the condo open behind him, groceries and champagne in hand. Slowly, he turns and nudges the door shut before making his way across the open space to the kitchen counter. Gigi follows him, George trailing behind in her wake.

“Don’t ignore me, William. I’m not one of your corporate problems that you can delegate to one of your lackeys. I deserve answers. And so does George.”

At George’s name, William’s eyes snap up and his hands clench at his side. “I believe you are laboring under some misapprehensions where your beloved is concerned, Georgiana, the biggest of which is that he loves you. This has never been about you. This is about hurting me, hurting our family. This is about revenge.”

“How self-centered are you?” she screeches. Georges hand grips her shoulder reassuringly. “I mean, I know that the whole world revolves around perfect William Darcy and his wildly successful life, but you can’t even let me have this one thing? George has never brought you up! We have more in common than you, believe it or not.”

She can feel tears pricking at her eyelids, fueled by her anger. “I guess it doesn’t surprise me that you don’t understand our relationship. You’re so wrapped up in yourself and your business, you’ll probably never understand what it’s like to need human contact, to need someone who loves you for who you are.”

During this little speech, Williams eyes grow darker and darker, even as the color drains from his face. When she finishes, he waits a beat, then says, “Are you quite done?”

She doesn’t answer. He reaches into his suit coat and pulls out a checkbook.

“I’ll prove to you that he doesn’t love you. Because George and I know what this is really about, don’t we, George? How much was it you asked for the last time we spoke?”

George doesn’t say anything, but she can feel him shifting next to her.

“Let’s add one more zero for good measure, shall we?”

William writes out a check and signs it with a flourish before tearing it out of his checkbook. He takes two quick strides across the room and extends his arm, holding out the innocent piece of paper. Gigi doesn’t look, doesn’t want to know how much he’s offering.

Because she knows that George won’t take it. Why would he? He loves her.

And then the warmth of his arm leaves her, and he takes a step away. A chasm opens up between them. She looks up at him, desparately seeking an answer for his sudden absence. He winks.

“Sorry, Peach.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes. I left it there. It was the logical breaking point? Working on what comes next, hopefully I won't leave you hanging for too long.


	13. Shattered

He takes the check, smiles at William, and makes his way to the couch. It only takes him a few seconds to dig up his shirt from the cracks of the cushions and walk out of her life for good. The door makes a hollow click as it swings shut behind him. 

She stares at him while he goes through these motions, mouth agape, unable to fully process what is happening until he is out the door. Even then, she refuses to believe it. She runs to the door, opens it, and calls after him.

"George?" He doesn't turn back. He pauses at the elevators before opening the thick metal fire door that leads to the central stairwell.

"George, come back." 

He's gone.

Stunned, she walks back into the condo and closes the door behind her with a dull finality. William hasn't moved.

“What did you just do?”

The sound of her own voice is foreign in her ears.

William doesn’t answer.

“What did you _do_?” A howl rips through her, and the tears flow fast and hot down her cheeks. She jumps at her brother with her fists raised, beating his chest and stomach and arms and anything else she can reach. “He loves me, William! Why would you do that? Why would you make him leave?”

“Georgiana, stop.” His voice cracks, and she knows that she’s hurting him, but he’s already broken her heart into a million pieces, and so it doesn’t even slow her down.

“Do you even know what love is? Do you know how much…?” She gasps for breath, feeling the onset of an anxiety attack. She used to get them regularly, right after her parents died, but it has been so long that the suffocating closeness is unfamiliar enough to spur her into more panic. “You-don’t know anything,” she wheezes.

He just stands there and takes her blows, arms limp at his side now that he’s accomplished his goal. “I know more than I’d like to.”

She sinks to the floor at his feet with her arms wrapped tightly around her chest, which is tightening more with each passing second, hiccupping through her tears. He hesitates, then crouches down to join her.

“I did give him the money, Gigi.” The soft _g_ ’s that only come out when William says her nickname sound grating and offensive to her. “I gave it to him shortly after the funeral.”

He pauses and she feels the weight of his hand on her head. “Enough for four years at any top rated university he wanted to attend. It was foolish of me; he didn’t even have an acceptance letter yet. But he came to me two days after we buried them, and he was so sincere, so full of purpose. He had a plan. He was my oldest friend.”

“Shut up, William.” Her throat is raw and her eyes are already swollen, and she can’t stop the tears and snot from dripping down her face.

“He came back. Less than a year later, he came back.” William appears to have not even heard her, so intent is he on his story. “He asked for more. When I asked what he had done with the money I had already given him…his answers were less than satisfactory. I asked him to return to the office at a better time. And then I did my own investigations. What I found out...”

“ _Shut up_.”

“He spent most of it between trips to Atlantic City and Las Vegas, in casinos and on…less savory things. I will spare you the details.”

“Get out.”

“Gigi…”

“Get. Out. Now. I hate you, William Darcy!”

She pulls away from his touch, scrambling backwards on her hands and knees. She glares in his general direction, refusing to look him in the eye. Tears stream down from her eyes, making it impossible to see clearly. She hates how weak she sounds. “Get out of my house, get out of my life! You ruined everything! I won’t ever forgive you for this, not ever!”

He sighs and stands up, but he does not leave. Instead, he goes back to the kitchen and begins to put the groceries, intended for a celebratory dinner, into the refrigerator. After a moment’s hesitation, he places the champagne in the fridge as well.

“Didn’t you hear me? I hate you!” She is louder now, steadier, and her voice comes out in a harsh, unfamiliar alto.

He merely walks over to the sink and begins to wash the dishes that have been sitting there since the previous evening.

“Be that as it may,” he finally says, not turning around, “I’m not going anywhere.”

* * *

She retreats into her room for days. Without putting much thought into it, she emails the Stanford Girl’s Swim coach and tells him she’s decided not to accept a spot on the team for next year. She tells Coach Andsley that she’s come down with violent stomach flu and makes the same excuse to Miss Dashwood. She skips the rest of her classes for the week. 

And William…William does not leave.

He is there every morning when she wakes up, sipping coffee and eating dry toast and oatmeal. He works on his laptop from the kitchen table for the entire day, taking calls as needed on his cell phone. He must go home at some point for clean clothes and for groceries, but she doesn’t know when, because every time she opens her door a crack to check, there he is, working away.

He brings her sandwiches and leaves them in front of her bedroom door. Invariably, he is forced to put them plastic bags and return them to the fridge. She sneaks out after he’s gone to sleep in the guest bedroom and eats them during the night. He doesn't try to talk to her at all, wisely assuming that neither of them was up for a repeat of that first, disastrous fight. He just waits patiently. Silently.

She sleeps for huge portions of the day and night, not keeping track of the sunrises and sunsets as they pass. Sometimes she blasts depressing music as loudly as she can, daring William to come and ask her to turn it down. Mostly she lies in bed, face buried in his pillow as his scent slowly fades away into nothingness. She is pathetic, and she wallows in it.

At first, she thinks that George will return. He’ll realize that what they have is so much more than money, no matter how much William threw at him to make him go away.  She calls him, and when he doesn’t pick up, she leaves voicemails that are pleading, angry, and desolate by turn.

He never calls back.

* * *

On Saturday, she leaves her room in the middle of the day. She hasn’t showered since Tuesday morning, and her hair is tangled and greasy. She’s been living in one of George’s concert tees and her oldest, most comfortable pair of flannel pajama pants. She knows she smells like sweat and misery, and she's probably got mascara streaks under both eyes. She hasn't bothered looking in the mirror in days.

William looks up from his laptop when she stumbles out, but quickly turns his attention back to the screen. He is on a conference call, his Bluetooth barely visible in one ear.

“I understand,” he says. “But will the production department be able to turn the edits around that quickly?”

Her condo is unrecognizably tidy. In the light of day, it is obvious that he’s cleaned the whole place from top to bottom. She’s tempted to check if he has even organized her closets while he’s waited for her to emerge. Certainly everything else is spotless.

“I look forward to seeing what progress you’ve made next week. And thank you all for taking time out of your Saturday.”

As soon as he hangs up, he takes the Bluetooth out and looks up again. “There’s coffee, if you’re interested.”

She shakes her head. “I’m not.”

He nods and goes back to his work, typing rapidly and occasionally shuffling papers between piles. She hardly recognizes her kitchen table, so much does it resemble his desk at Pemberley.

“I’m going to take a shower,” she says after standing in the middle of her unbearably clean kitchen for an interminable period of time. “And then, maybe…”

He stops typing.

“Maybe we could talk.”

He takes his eyes off his screen and gives her a small, cautious smile.

“I’d like that. Very much.”

* * *

After the longest shower of her life, she sits down and tells him everything. It isn’t easy, and at several points during the story she has to stop and cry. The wounds are too fresh, and she is still too heartbroken and in love to get through this without tears. William, uncomfortable as always with demonstrations of strong emotion, remains stoic through it all, patting her back softly or handing her tissues until she is ready to continue. 

The worst part is that he keeps brushing off her apologies. He seems to feel weirdly responsible for the whole episode, which makes no sense to her at all. Her decisions caused this mess, not his.

“I never should have said those things to you,” she sniffles at one point. “I was awful, ungrateful, selfish, stupid. If I had just talked to you, asked you about George, none of this would have happened.”

“Stop that,” he says sternly. He hands her yet another tissue. “That’s my sister you’re talking about.”

“Ugh.” She blows her nose loudly. “Why are you being so nice to me? I don’t deserve it.”

“Would it make you feel better if I lectured you?”

“Yes.” She nods emphatically, still wiping stray tears away. “No. I don’t know.”

* * *

He doesn’t lecture her. He does help her get rid of all of George’s things and rearrange her furniture in an effort to wipe the place clean of his time with her. She gets a cheap satisfaction out of dropping all of George’s clothes off at the Salvation Army. And while erasing him from her life piece by excruciating piece helps, it doesn’t ease the pain entirely. She immerses herself back into the forced routine of work, school, and tennis. 

The end of the school year triggers another extended bout of sadness, probably because she is suddenly left with a little too much time on her hands. She sits in her condo and watches sad, romantic movies. To purge her feelings afterwards, she follows these movie marathons up with long runs up and down the city’s unforgiving hills, sprinting downhill with her favorite angry music blasting through her ear buds.

William checks in on her periodically. When she mentions she’s set up accounts to track her movie and music consumption and linked up a new twitter account, he follows her immediately. She’s reasonably sure he does it just to keep an eye on her, because they certainly do not have the same taste in music or films.

Because the last several months have taught her to see him a little more clearly, she doesn’t resent him for it. She just smiles and follows him back. And when he mentions that Bing Lee wants him to visit for an extended vacation at his new house in a little town call Hunsford, she encourages him to take a break and stop worrying about her.

“You can’t take care of me every second, William,” she says with a tired smile. “You’ve got to start living your life at some point.”

“Nonsense,” he admonishes her gently. “You are my little sister. It’s my job to take care of you.”

She rolls her eyes and shakes her head, but she doesn’t disagree. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up...an epilogue. 
> 
> I'm also considering doing a oneshot companion piece from Darcy's perspective of the last chapter and this one. Anyone have any interest in that? I will probably do it regardless, because let's be real, I've grown very attached to the Darcy family. :)


	14. Epilogue

"Domino, end recording."

As the light blinks off on her web cam, Gigi takes the oppourtunity to do a little dance. Her first demo video is officially complete, no muss, no fuss. The idea of edit-less video blogging is going to take the world by storm, and Pemberley is going to be on the cutting edge. The idea of being on camera wasn't hers, but she's glad she took the leap. Best of all, William is one hundred percent supportive. When the design team approached her, he just smiled.

"Do you want to do the Domino demonstrations?" 

"Honestly? I think I do. I'm terrified, but seeing Lizzie do what she does..."

At this, William's cheeks had lifted infintessimally and his lips had pursed, a sure sign that he was biting back the smile that always breaks out these days when Lizzie is mentioned. It's getting ridiculous.

"If Ellie can spare you, I see no reason why you shouldn't say yes. It's good to do things that scare you now and then." 

Remembering this conversation, Gigi grins. Any day now, William is going to follow his own advice. Lizzie Bennet won't know what what hit her. Feeling lighter than air after her successful demo, she decides to pay her brother a visit and lend some moral support. 

She finds him in his office, desk chair turned to face the plate glass windows that overlook the gardens. Most uncharacteristically, he is neither reading nor writing nor talking on the phone. She clears his throat, and he jumps, spinning around to face her with a guilty expression on his face. Gigi laughs.

"Were you  _daydreaming_?"

He smooths his tie and straightens his mouth, trying and failing to hide his smile. "What can I do for you, Gigi?"

She strolls across his office wearing a mischeivious smirk. "I got a complimentary reminder email that our tickets for tonight's performance of Tolstoy's  _Anna Karenina_  will be waiting at the ticket office. It's funny, because I have conditioning every Wednesday night."

William's eyes close and he exhales loudly. "I told them that no reminder would be necessary." 

"It is so hard to get good help these days." She makes a  _tsk_  with her tongue  and skips across the office, depositing herself in the armchair across from him. "You just can't count on anyone. Your bad luck that our season tickets are linked to my contact information, I suppose."

"Please don't say anything to Fitz."

Her stomach gives a guilty jerk, and she looks away.

"Gigi..."

"Well! Who else was I going to gossip about it with? I can't exactly talk to Lizzie! Awk-ward." She neglects to mention that along with Fitz, she's mentioned his plans, albeit vaguely, to anyone who happens to be watching the Domino alpha testing, which could include a good-sized portion of Lizzie's audience at this point. What he doesn't know can't hurt him. Probably.

"You could try not gossiping about it at all." His eyebrows are furrowed and pulled in, but there's no bite to his voice, only the tired resignation of a brother who has learned to pick his battles.

"Where's the fun in that?"

He sighs.

"Oh, calm down. I'm just giving you a hard time. The real question is, what did she say?"

Now it is William's turn to look guilty.

"You haven't asked her yet?!" Her jaw drops and she flails her hands around. "William! What if she has plans? Stop sabotaging yourself and get your butt down to that girl's office right now!" 

In her enthusiasm, she pounds her fist on the surface of his desk, and William lets out a surprised laugh before clearing his throat.

"I intended to ask her this afternoon. I was hoping to avoid the...ah..."

A slow smile spreads over Gigi's face. "You wanted to sneak around the camera? But her viewers love you! They're totally Team Darcy! After you did costume theater as Fitz, the entire Internet collectively fell in love with you. You're famous! Oh my God, they'd die if you asked her out on her videos. Every last one of them! And think of the views if you guys kissed!" 

The look he gives her tells her she's gone too far. She switches tacks.

"Come on, one of the Darcys has to have a love life." She says it without even thinking, and when he winces, it takes her a minute to remember why.

She's gotten remarkably good at forgetting. And that's okay. Even when she remembers him, painful as that is, she can do it with more anger and indignation than sorrow. Purging those feelings on Lizzie's blog had felt good, and it gave her a chance to really set the Internet straight on a few things. And if that meant she had to get some tears out in front of tens of thousands of viewers, well, so be it. William hadn't been happy about that little stunt, but even he admitted that seeing her confront her past like that made him proud. 

"William, he doesn't have to be a part of every conversation we have about this kind of thing." 

He looks like he's going to say something else, so she shakes her head and stands up. 

"I'll be waiting to hear the good news about your date. If I don't have confirmation that you and Lizzie Bennet are about to enjoy a romantic evening for two by quitting time, I may have to take matters into my own hands. There are plenty more rooms I could shove the two of you into together." 

It's an empty threat, but she makes it anyway, because she can, and because something about loving Lizzie Bennet has infused her brother with a little extra humor. A comment like that would have earned her a disapproving noise of some sort just a few months ago, but now he just chuckles.

"Don't you have class or something?" 

"Not until this afternoon. Stop worrying about me. Take care of your own business." She blows him a kiss as she walks out the door, happy and confident in the future.

* * *

How quickly things change. Was it really just this morning that she thought she had gotten past the havoc George Wickham wrecked on her life a year ago? What a joke. She hasn't gotten past anything. 

Even worse, though, is seeing the echo of pain on William's face. It is completely by chance that she sees him at all. He is striding into the offices from the parking lot, texting furiously and not looking up. She nearly plows into him on her way out to go to class.

"William? What's going on?" 

And then he meets her eyes, and it's like they've stepped back in time. He looks guilty and nauseated and so very angry. Only one person makes him look like this.

"What did he do?" 

He tries to evade her, but she does not let him. Instead, she forces him to stop and sit down in the armchairs near the lobby. Reluctantly, he throws her a few details in whispered tones that don't hide his rage. And then he stands up.

"I'm sorry, Gigi. I have to go." 

"What, that's it?" He turns to walk away, back toward the front doors.

"I can't stay here," he mutters. "Surely you understand." 

And she does. She really does. So she doesn't protest as he practically jogs out into the parking lot to his car. Running is a familiar impulse. She wants to run now.

But then she thinks of the Bennet family, probably still mostly unaware of the disaster that is about to fall upon them, and she knows she can't run. She can't stand idly by while someone else's life is torn apart by George Wickham. She knows William, and she knows that he'll have a plan to fix this situation by whatever means necessary. Lydia Bennet is important to Lizzie, and therefore she is important to William. 

Her heart aches for Lydia, who always seemed like so much fun in Lizzie's videos. Wild, sure, and definitely energetic, but not the way that William meant it. She's simply young, young like Gigi was trying so hard to be. Despite the obvious partying and boy-crazy lifestyle Lydia led, there was an innocence to her that Gigi cannot recapture, try as she might. And now, thanks to a sex tape and a countdown clock, that innocence will be stolen.

Gigi takes one last, long look at the parking lot as she watches William peel out at a speed completely inappropriate for his little Prius. And then she turns back around and makes a beeline for Fitz's office. He'll tell her more than William did, and if there's a plan in place, he'll be in on it. 

George Wickham will be sorry he ever messed with Lydia Bennet.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End! Thanks for reading, and for all your lovely kudoseseseses (kudi?) and comments. 
> 
> I'm working on another sibling fic now that I've linked as part 2 of a series with this story. Check it out if you're interested :) 
> 
> And yes. William drives a Prius, even though he's more than six feet tall, because William Darcy in a clown car amuses me. Whatever. Don't make it weird.


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